PORT 


LIBRARY 

University  of 

California 

Irvine 


THE  PORT  OF  MISSING  MEN 


THE  PORT  OF 
MISSING  MEN 


BY 

MEREDITH  NICHOLSON 

AUTHOR    OF 

*  The  House  of  a  Thousand  Candles" 

"The    Main    Chance" 

"ZeUa  Dameron" 

etc. 


With  Illustrations  by 

CLARENCE   F.  UNDERWOOD 


Then  Sir  Pellinore  put  of  his  armour;  then  a 
little  afore  midnight  they  beard  the  trotting  of 
an  horse.  Be  ye  still,  said  King  Pellinore,  for 
we  shall  hear  of  some  adventure Malory. 


GROSSET     &     DUNLAP 
Publishers        :        New    York 


COPYRIGHT  1907 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 

JANUARY 


fto  tbc  .CEcmotp  of 

German  fiouutie 


THE  SHINING  ROAD 

Come,  sweetheart,  let>us  ride  away  beyond  the  city's 
bound. 

And  seek  what  pleasant  lands  across  the  distant  hills 
are  found. 

There  is  a  golden  light  that  shines  beyond  the  verge  of 
dawn, 

And   there  are  happy  highways  leading   on  and  al 
ways  on; 

So,  sweetheart,  let  us  mount  and  ride,  with  never  a  back-^ 
ward  glance. 

To  find  the  pleasant  shelter  of  the  Valley  of  Romance, 

Before  us,  down  the  golden  road,  floats  dust  from  char$» 

ing  steeds, 
Where  two  adventurous  companies  clash  loud  in  mighty 

deeds; 
And  from  the  totver  that  stands  alert  like  som-e  tall, 

beckoning  pine, 
E'en  now,  my  heart,  I  see  afar  the  lights  of  welcome 

shine! 
80  loose  the  rein  and  cheer  the  steed  and  let  us  race 

away 
To  seek  the  lands  that  lie  beyond  the  Borders  of  To-day. 


Draw  rein  and  rest  a  moment  here  in  this  cool  vale  of 
peace; 

The  race  half-run,  the  goal  half-won,  half  won  the  sure 
release  I 

To  right  and  left  are  flowery  fields,  and  brooks  go  sing 
ing  down 

To  mock  the  sober  folk  who  still  are  prisoned  in  the 
town. 

Now  to  the  trail  again,  dear  heart;  my  arm  and  blade 
are  true, 

And  on  some  plain  ere  night  descend  I'll  "break  a  lance 
for  you! 

0  sweetheart,  it  is  good  to  find  the  pathway  shining 

clear! 
The  road  is  broad,  the  hope  is  sure,  and  you  are  near 

and  dear! 
So  loose  the  rein  and  cheer  the  steed  and  let  us  race 

away 

To  seek  the  lands  that  lie  beyond  the  Borders  of  To-day. 
Oh,  we  shall  hear  at  last,  my  heart,  a  cheering  welcome 

cried 
As  o'er  a  clattering  drawbridge  through  the  Qdie  of 

Dreams  we  ride  ! 


CONTENTS 

SHAPTER  PAGE 

I    "Events,  Events" 1 

II  The  Claibornes,  of  Washington  ...       20 

III  Dark  Tidings 37 

IV  John  Armitage  a  Prisoner   ....        50 
V    A  Lost  Cigarette  Case 64 

VI  Toward  the  Western  Stars          ...        77 

VII    On  the  Dark  Deck 89 

VIII  "The  King  Is  Dead;  Long  Live  the  King"       104 

IX  "This  Is  America,  Mr.  Armitage"  .        .        .121 

X  John  Armitage  Is  Shadowed       .        .        .      136 

XI    The  Toss  of  a  Napkin 150 

XII  A  Camp  in  the  Mountains    ....      161 

XIII  The  Lady  of  the  Pergola         .       .       .       .180 

XIV  An  Enforced  Interview        ....      193 
XV    Shirley  Learns  a  Secret 202 

XVI    Narrow  Margins 216 

XVII    A  Gentleman  in  Hiding 225 

XVIII  An  Exchange  of  Messages    ....      233 

XIX  Captain  Claihorne  on  Duty     ....  247 

XX  The  First  Ride  Together     ....      258 

XXI  The  Comedy  of  a  Sheepfold  .        .       .       .276 

XXII  The  Prisoner  at  the  Bungalow   .        .        .293 

XXIII  The  Verge  of  Morning 314 

XXIV  The  Attack  in  the  Road        ....      325 
XXV  The  Port  of  Missing  Men         .       .       .       .338 

XXVI  "Who  Are  You,  John  Armitage?"       .       .      355 

XXVII    Decent  Burial 374 

XXVIII  John  Armitage       .        .                                      385 


THE  PORT  OF  MISSING  MEN 


THE  PORT  OF  MISSING  MEN 


"EVENTS,  EVENTS" 

Time  hath,  my  lord,  a  wallet  at  his  back 
[Wherein  he  puts  alms  for  oblivion. 

— Troilus  and  Cresslda. 

"The  knowledge  that  you're  alive  gives  me  no  pleas 
ure,"  growled  the  grim  old  Austrian  premier. 

"Thank  you !"  laughed  John  Armitage,  to  whom  he 
had  spoken.  "You  have  lost  none  of  your  old  amiability ; 
but  for  a  renowned  diplomat,  you  are  remarkably  frank. 
When  I  called  on  you  in  Paris,  a  year  ago,  I  was  able  to 
render  you — I  believe  you  admitted  it — a  slight  service." 

1 


2  THE   POET    OF   MISSING   MEN" 

Count  Ferdinand  von  Stroebel  bowed  slightly,  but  did 
not  take  his  eyes  from  the  young  man  who  sat  opposite 
him  in  his  rooms  at  the  Hotel  Monte  Eosa  in  Geneva. 
On  the  table  between  them  stood  an  open  despatch  box, 
and  about  it  lay  a  number  of  packets  of  papers  which 
the  old  gentleman,  with  characteristic  caution,  had  re 
moved  to  his  own  side  of  the  table  before  admitting  his 
caller.  He  was  a  burly  old  man,  with  massive  shoulders 
and  a  great  head  thickly  covered  with  iron-gray  hair. 

He  trusted  no  one,  and  this  accounted  for  his  presence 
in  Geneva  in  March,  of  the  year  1903,  whither  he 
had  gone  to  receive  the  report  of  the  secret  agents  whom 
he  had  lately  despatched  to  Paris  on  an  errand  of  pecu 
liar  delicacy.  The  agents  had  failed  in  their  mission, 
and  Von  Stroebel  was  not  tolerant  of  failure.  Perhaps 
if  he  had  known  that  within  a  week  the  tapers  would 
burn  about  his  bier  in  Saint  Stephen's  Cathedral,  at 
Vienna,  while  his  life  and  public  services  would  be  esti 
mated  in  varying  degrees  of  admiration  or  execration  by 
the  newspapers  of  Europe,  he  might  not  have  dealt  so 
harshly  with  his  hard-worked  spies. 

It  was  not  often  that  the  light  in  the  old  man's  eyes 
was  as  gentle  as  now.  He  had  sent  his  secret  agents  away 
and  was  to  return  to  Vienna  on  the  following  day.  The 


"EVENTS,   EVENTS"  3 

young  man  whom  he  now  entertained  in  his  apartments 
received  his  whole  attention.  He  picked  up  the  card 
which  lay  on  the  table  and  scrutinized  it  critically, 
while  his  eyes  lighted  with  sudden  humor. 

The  card  was  a  gentleman's  carte  de  visile,  and  bore 
the  name  John  Armitage. 

"I  believe  this  is  the  same  alias  you  were  using  when 
I  saw  you  in  Paris.  Where  did  you  get  it?"  demanded 
the  minister. 

"I  rather  liked  the  sound  of  it,  so  I  had  the  cards 
made/'  replied  the  young  man.  besides,  it's  English, 
and  I  pass  readily  for  an  Englishman.  I  have  quite  got 
used  to  it." 

"Which  is  not  particularly  creditable;  but  it's  prob 
ably  just  as  well  so." 

He  drew  closer  to  the  table,  and  his  keen  old  eyes 
snapped  with  the  intentness  of  his  thought.  The  hands 
he  clasped  on  the  table  were  those  of  age,  and  it  was 
pathetically  evident  that  he  folded  them  to  hide  their 
slight  palsy. 

"I  hope  you  are  quite  well,"  said  Armitage  kindly. 

"I  am  not.  I  am  anything  but  well.  I  am  an  old  man, 
and  I  have  had  no  rest  for  twenty  years." 

"It  is  the  penalty  cf  greatness.   It  is  Austria's  good 


4  THE  PORT   OF  MISSING  MEN 

fortune  that  you  have  devoted  yourself  to  the  affairs  of 
government.  I  have  read — only  to-day,  in  the  Contempo 
rary  Reweiv—sm  admirable  tribute  to  your  sagacity  in 
handling  the  Servian  affair.  Your  work  was  masterly.  ? 
followed  it  from  the  beginning  with  deepest  interest." 

The  old  gentleman  bowed  half-unconsciously,  for  his 
thoughts  were  far  away,  as  the  vague  stare  in  his  small, 
shrewd  eyes  indicated. 

"T3ut  you  are  here  for  rest — one  comes  to  Geneva  at 
this  season  for  nothing  else." 

"What  brings  you  here  ?"  asked  the  old  man  with  sud 
den  energy.  "If  the  papers  you  gave  me  in  Paris  are 
forgeries  and  you  are  waiting — " 

"Yes ;  assuming  that,  what  should  I  be  waiting  for  ?M 

"If  you  are  waiting  for  events — for  events!  If  you 
expect  something  to  happen !" 

Armitage  laughed  at  the  old  gentleman's  earnest  man 
ner,  asked  if  he  might  smoke,  and  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"Waiting  doesn't  suit  me.  I  thought  you  understood 
that.  I  was  not  born  for  the  waiting  list.  You  see,  I 
have  strong  hands — and  my  wits  are — let  us  say — aver- 
age!" 

Von  Stroebel  clasped  his  own  hands  together  more 
firmly  and  bent  toward  Armitage  searchingly. 


"EVENTS,   EVENTS"  5 

"Is  it  true" — he  turned  again  and  glanced  about — "is 
it  positively  true  that  the  Archduke  Karl  is  dead  ?" 

"Yes ;  quite  true.  There  is  absolutely  no  doubt  of  it/' 
said  Armitage,  meeting  the  old  man's  eyes  steadily. 

"The  report  that  he  is  still  living  somewhere  in  North 
America  is  persistent.  We  hear  it  frequently  in  Vienna ; 
I  have  heard  it  since  you  told  me  that  story  and  gave  me 
those  papers  in  Paris  last  year." 

"I  am  aware  of  that,"  replied  John  Armitage;  "but 
I  told  you  the  truth.  He  died  in  a  Canadian  lumber 
camp.  We  were  in  the  north  hunting — you  may  recall 
that  he  was  fond  of  that  sort  of  thing." 

"Yes,  I  remember;  there  was  nothing  else  he  did  so 
well,"  growled  Von  Stroebel. 

"And  the  packet  I  gave  you — " 

The  old  man  nodded. 

" — that  packet  contained  the  Archduke  Karl's  sworn 
arraignment  of  his  wife.  It  is  of  great  importance,  in 
deed,  to  Francis,  his  worthless  son,  or  supposed  son,  who 
may  present  himself  for  coronation  one  of  these  days !" 

"Not  with  Karl  appearing  in  all  parts  of  the  world, 
never  quite  dead,  never  quite  alive — and  his  son  Fred 
erick  Augustus  lurking  with  him  in  the  shadows.  Who 
knows  whether  they  are  dead  ?'* 


6  THE   POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

"I  am  the  only  person  on  earth  in  a  position  to  make 
that  clear,"  said  John  Armitage. 

"Then  you  should  give  me  the  documents." 

"No ;  I  prefer  to  keep  them.  I  assure  you  that  I  have 
sworn  proof  of  the  death  of  the  Archduke  Karl,  and  of 
his  son  Frederick  Augustus.  Those  papers  are  in  a  box 
in  the  Bronx  Loan  and  Trust  Company,  in  New  York 
City." 

"I  should  have  them ;  I  must  have  them !"  thundered 
the  old  man. 

"In  due  season ;  but  not  just  now.  In  fact,  I  have  re 
gretted  parting  with  that  document  I  gave  you  in  Paris. 
It  is  safer  in  America  than  in  Vienna.  If  you  please,  I 
should  like  to  have  it  again,  sir." 

The  palsy  in  the  old  man's  hands  had  increased,  and 
he  strove  to  control  his  agitation;  but  fear  had  never 
been  reckoned  among  his  weaknesses,  and  he  turned 
stormily  upon  Armitage. 

"That  packet  is  lost,  I  tell  you !"  he  blurted,  as  though 
it  were  something  that  he  had  frequently  explained  be 
fore.  "It  was  stolen  from  under  my  very  nose  only  a 
month  ago!  That's  what  I'm  here  for — my  agents  are 
after  the  thief,  and  I  came  to  Geneva  to  meet  them,  to 
find  out  why  they  have  not  caught  him.  Do  you  imagine 


"EVENTS,   EVENTS"  7 

that  I  travel  for  pleasure  at  my  age,  Mr.  John  Armi- 
tage  ?" 

Count  von  Stroebel's  bluster  was  merely  a  cloak  to 
hide  his  confusion — a  cloak,  it  may  be  said,  to  which  he 
did  not  often  resort ;  but  in  this  case  he  watched  Armi- 
tage  warily.  He  clearly  expected  some  outburst  of  in 
dignation  from  the  young  man,  and  he  was  unfeignedly 
relieved  when  Armitage,  after  opening  and  closing  his 
eyes  quickly,  reached  for  a  fresh  cigarette  and  lighted 
it  with  the  deft  ease  of  habit. 

"The  packet  has  been  stolen,"  he  observed  calmly; 
"whom  do  you  suspect  of  taking  it  ?" 

The  old  man  leaned  upon  the  table  heavily. 

c<rThat  amiable  Francis — " 

"The  suggestion  is  not  dismaying.  Francis  would  not 
know  an  opportunity  if  it  offered." 

"But  his  mother — she  is  the  devil!"  blurted  the  old 
man. 

"Pray  drop  that,"  said  Armitage  in  a  tone  that  caused 
the  old  man  to  look  at  him  with  a  new  scrutiny.  "I 
want  the  paper  back  for  the  very  reason  that  it  contains 
that  awful  indictment  of  her.  I  have  been  uncomfort 
able  ever  since  I  gave  it  to  you;  and  I  came  to  ask  you 
for  it  that  I  might  keep  it  safe  in  my  own  hands.  But 


8  THE   PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

the  document  is  lost, — am  I  to  understand  that  Francis 
has  it?" 

"Not  yet!  But  Rambaud  has  it,  and  Rambaud  and 
Francis  are  as  thick  as  thieves." 

"I  don't  know  Rambaud.  The  name  is  unfamiliar." 

"He  has  a  dozen  names — one  for  every  capital.  He 
even  operates  in  Washington,  I  have  heard.  He's  a 
blackmailer,  who  aims  high — a  broker  in  secrets,  a  scan 
dal-peddler.  He's  a  bad  lot,  I  tell  you.  I've  had  my  best 
men  after  him,  and  they've  just  been  here  to  report  an 
other  failure.  If  you  have  nothing  better  to  do — "  be 
gan  the  old  man. 

"Yes ;  that  packet  must  be  recovered,"  answered  Ar- 
mitage.  "If  your  agents  have  failed  at  the  job  ft  may  be 
worth  my  while  to  look  for  it." 

His  quiet  acceptance  of  the  situation  irritated  the 
minister. 

"You  entertain  me,  John  Armitage!  You  speak  of 
that  packet  as  though  it  were  a  pound  of  tea.  Francis 
and  his  friends,  Winkelried  and  Rambaud,  are  not  chas 
ers  of  fireflies,  I  would  have  you  know.  If  the  Archduke 
and  his  son  are  dead,  then  a  few  more  deaths  and  Fran 
cis  would  rule  the  Empire." 

John  Armitage  and  Count  von  Stroebel  stared  at  each 
other  in  silence. 


"EVENTS,   EVENTS"  9 

"Events !  Events !"  muttered  the  old  man  presently, 
and  he  rested  one  of  his  hands  upon  the  despatch  box,  as 
though  it  were  a  symbol  of  authority  and  power. 

"Events !"  the  young  man  murmured. 

"Events!"  repeated  Count  von  Stroebel  without  hu 
mor.  "A  couple  of  deaths  and  there  you  see  him,  on 
the  ground  and  quite  ready.  Karl  was  a  genius,  there 
fore  he  could  not  be  king.  He  threw  away  about  five 
hundred  years  of  work  that  had  been  done  for  him  by 
other  people — and  he  cajoled  you  into  sharing  his  exile. 
You  threw  away  your  life  for  him !  Bah !  But  you  seem 
sane  enough !" 

The  prime  minister  concluded  with  his  rough  burr; 
and  Armitage  laughed  outright. 

"Why  the  devil  don't  you  go  to  Vienna  and  set  your 
self  up  like  a  gentleman  ?"  demanded  the  premier. 

"Like  a  gentleman?"  repeated  Armitage.  "It  is  too 
late.  I  should  die  in  Vienna  in  a  week.  Moreover,  I  am, 
dead,  and  it  is  well,  when  one  has  attained  that  beatific 
advantage,  to  stay  dead." 

"Francis  is  a  troublesome  blackguard,"  declared  the 
old  man.  "I  wish  to  God  he  would  form  the  dying  habit, 
so  that  I  might  have  a  few  years  in  peace ;  but  he  is  for 
ever  turning  up  in  some  mischief.  And  what  can  you  do 


10  THE   PORT    OF,   MISSING   MEN 

about  it?  Can  we  kick  him  out  of  the  army  without  a 
scandal  ?  Don't  you  suppose  he  could  go  to  Budapest  to 
morrow  and  make  things  interesting  for  us  if  he  pleased  ? 
He's  as  full  of  treason  as  he  can  stick,  I  tell  you." 

Armitage  nodded  and  smiled. 

"I  dare  say,"  he  said  in  English;  and  when  the  old 
statesman  glared  at  him  he  said  in  German :  "No  doubt 
you  are  speaking  the  truth." 

"Of  course  I  speak  the  truth ;  but  this  is  a  matter  for 
action,  and  not  for  discussion.  That  packet  was  stolen 
by  intention,  and  not  by  chance,  John  Armitage !" 

There  was  a  slight  immaterial  sound  in  the  hall,  and 
the  old  prime  minister  slipped  from  German  to  French 
without  changing  countenance  as  he  continued : 

"We  have  enough  troubles  in  Austria  without  encour 
aging  treason.  If  Eambaud  and  his  chief,  Winkelried, 
could  make  a  king  of  Francis,  the  brokerage — the  com 
mission — would  be  something  handsome;  and  Winkel 
ried  and  Rambaud  are  clever  men." 

"I  know  of  Winkelried.  The  continental  press  has 
given  much  space  to  him  of  late ;  but  Rambaud  is  a  new 
name." 

"He  is  a  skilled  hand.  He  is  the  most  daring  scoun 
drel  in  Europe." 


"EVENTS,   EVENTS''  11 

Count  von  Stroebel  poured  a  glass  of  brandy  from  a 
silver  flask  and  sipped  it  slowly. 

"I  will  show  you  the  gentleman's  pleasant  counte 
nance/'  said  the  minister,  and  he  threw  open  a  leather 
portfolio  and  drew  from  it  a  small  photograph  which  he 
extended  to  Armitage,  who  glanced  at  it  carelessly  and 
then  with  sudden  interest. 

"Kambaud !"  he  exclaimed. 

"That's  his  name  in  Vienna.  In  Paris  he  is  something 
else.  I  will  furnish  you  a  list  of  his  noms  de  guerre" 

"Thank  you.  I  should  like  all  the  information  you 
care  to  give  me;  but  it  may  amuse  you  to  know  that  I 
have  seen  the  gentleman  before." 

"That  is  possible,"  remarked  the  old  man,  who  never 
evinced  surprise  in  any  circumstances. 

"I  expect  to  see  him  here  within  a  few  days." 

Count  von  Stroebel  held  up  his  empty  glass  and 
studied  it  attentively,  while  he  waited  for  Armitage  to 
explain  why  he  expected  to  see  Kambaud  in  Geneva. 

"He  is  interested  in  a  certain  young  woman.  She 
reached  here  yesterday ;  and  Eambaud,  alias  Chauvenet, 
is  quite  likely  to  arrive  within  a  day  or  so." 

"Jules  Chauvenet  is  the  correct  name.  I  must  inform 
my  men,"  said  the  minister. 


12  THE   PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

"You  wish  to  arrest  him  ?" 

"You  ought  to  know  me  better  than  that,  Mr.  John 
Armitage !  Of  course  I  shall  not  arrest  him !  But  I  must 
get  that  packet.  I  can't  have  it  peddled  all  over  Europe, 
and  I  can't  advertise  my  business  by  having  him  arrested 
here.  If  I  could  catch  him  once  in  Vienna  I  should 
know  what  to  do  Avith  him !  He  and  "VVinkelried  got  hold 
of  our  plans  in  that  Bulgarian  affair  last  year  and  check 
mated  me.  He  carries  his  wares  to  the  best  buyers — Ber 
lin  and  St.  Petersburg.  So  there's  a  woman,  is  there? 
I've  found  that  there  usually  is !" 

"There's  a  very  charming  young  American  girl,  to  be 
more  exact." 

The  old  man  growled  and  eyed  Armitage  sharply, 
while  Armitage  studied  the  photograph. 

"I  hope  you  are  not  meditating  a  preposterous  mar 
riage.  Go  back  where  you  belong,  make  a  proper  mar 
riage  and  wait — " 

"Events  I"  and  John  Armitage  laughed.  "I  tell  you, 
sir,  that  waiting  is  not  my  forte.  That's  what  I  like 
about  America ;  they're  up  and  at  it  over  there ;  the  man 
who  waits  is  lost." 

"They're  a  lot  of  swine!"  rumbled  Von  Stroebel's 
heavy  bass. 


"EVENTS,   EVENTS"  13 

"I  still  owe  allegiance  to  the  Schomburg  crown,  so 
don't  imagine  you  are  hitting  me.  But  the  swine  are  in 
dustrious  and  energetic.  Who  knows  but  that  John  Ar- 
mitage  might  become  famous  among  them — in  politics, 
in  finance!  But  for  the  deplorable  accident  of  foreign 
birth  he  might  become  president  of  the  United  States. 
As  it  is,  there  are  thousands  of  other  offices  worth  get 
ting — why  not?" 

"I  tell  you  not  to  be  a  fool.  You  are  young  and — 
fairly  clever — " 

Armitage  laughed  at  the  reluctance  of  the  count's 
praise. 

"Thank  you,  with  all  my  heart !" 

"Go  back  where  you  belong  and  you  will  have  no  re 
grets.  Something  may  happen — who  can  tell?  Events 
— events — if  a  man  will  watch  and  wait  and  study 
events — " 

"Bless  me!  They  organize  clubs  in  every  American 
village  for  the  study  of  events,"  laughed  Armitage ;  then 
he  changed  his  tone.  "To  be  sure,  the  Bourbons  have 
studied  events  these  many  years — a  pretty  spectacle, 
too." 

"Carrion!  Carrion!"  almost  screamed  the  old  man, 
half-rising  in  his  seat.  "Don't  mention  those  scaven- 


14          THE   POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

gers  to  me !  Bah !  The  very  thought  of  them  makes  me 
sick.  But" — he  gulped  down  more  of  the  brandy — 
"where  and  how  do  you  live  ?" 

"Where?  I  own  a  cattle  ranch  in  Montana  and  since 
the  Archduke's  death  I  have  lived  there.  He  carried 
about  fifty  thousand  pounds  to  America  with  him.  He 
took  care  that  I  should  get  what  was  left  when  he  died — 
and,  I  am  almost  afraid  to  tell  you  that  I  have  actually 
augmented  my  inheritance !  Just  before  I  left  I  bought 
a  place  in  Virginia  to  be  near  Washington  when  I  got 
tired  of  the  ranch." 

"Washington !"  snorted  the  count.  "In  due  course  it 
will  be  the  storm  center  of  the  world." 

"You  read  the  wrong  American  newspapers,"  laughed 
Armitage. 

They  were  silent  for  a  moment,  in  which  each  was 
busy  with  his  own  thoughts ;  then  the  count  remarked,  in 
as  amiable  a  tone  as  he  ever  used : 

"Your  French  is  first  rate.  Do  you  speak  English  as 
well?" 

"As  readily  as  German,  I  think.  You  may  recall  that 
I  had  an  English  tutor,  and  maybe  I  did  not  tell  you  in 
that  interview  at  Paris  that  I  had  spent  a  year  at  Har 
vard  University." 


"EVENTS,   EVENTS"  15 

"What  the  devil  did  you  do  that  for  ?"  growled  Von 
Stroebel. 

"From  curiosity,  or  ambition,  as  you  like.  I  was  in 
Cambridge  at  the  law  school  for  a  year  before  the  Arch 
duke  died.  That  was  three  years  ago.  I  am  twenty-eight, 
as  you  may  remember.  I  am  detaining  you;  I  have  no 
wish  to  rake  over  the  past;  but  I  am  sorry — I  am  very 
sorry  we  can't  meet  on  some  common  ground." 

"I  ask  you  to  abandon  this  democratic  nonsense  and 
come  back  and  make  a  man  of  yourself.  You  might  go 
far — very  far ;  but  this  democracy  has  hold  of  you  like  a 
disease." 

"What  you  ask  is  impossible.  It  is  just  as  impossible 
now  as  it  was  when  we  discussed  it  in  Paris  last  year.  To 
sit  down  in  Vienna  and  learn  how  to  keep  that  leaning 
tower  of  an  Empire  from  tumbling  down  like  a  stack  of 
bricks — it  does  not  appeal  to  me.  You  have  spent  a  la 
borious  life  in  defending  a  silly  medieval  tradition  of 
government.  You  are  using  all  the  apparatus  of  the 
modern  world  to  perpetuate  an  ideal  that  is  as  old  and 
dead  as  the  Eameses  dynasty.  Every  time  you  use  the 
telegraph  to  send  orders  in  an  emperor's  name  you  com 
mit  an  anachronism." 

The  count  frowned  and  growled. 


16  THE   PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

"Don't  talk  to  me  like  that.  It  is  not  amusing." 

"No;  it  is  not  funny.  To  see  men  like  you  fetching 
and  carrying  for  dull  kings,  who  would  drop  through 
the  gallows  or  go  to  planting  turnips  without  your 
brains — it  does  not  appeal  to  my  sense  of  humor  or  to  my 
imagination." 

"You  put  it  coarsely/'  remarked  the  old  man  grimly. 
"I  shall  perhaps  have  a  statue  when  I  am  gone." 

"Quite  likely ;  and  mohs  will  rendezvous  in  its  shadow 
to  march  upon  the  royal  palaces.  If  I  were  coming  back 
to  Europe  I  should  go  in  for  something  more  interesting 
than  furnishing  brains  for  sickly  kings." 

"I  dare  say !  Very  likely  you  would  persuade  them  to 
proclaim  democracy  and  brotherhood  everywhere." 

"On  the  other  hand,  I  should  become  king  myself." 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Mr.  John  Armitage.  Much  as  you 
have  grieved  me,  I  should  hat'e  to  see  you  in  a  mad 
house." 

"My  faculties,  poor  as  they  are,  were  never  clearer.  I 
repeat  that  if  I  were  going  to  furnish  the  brains  for  an 
empire  I  should  ride  in  the  state  carriage  myself,  and 
not  be  merely  the  driver  on  the  box,  who  keeps  the  mid 
dle  of  the  road  and  looks  out  for  sharp  corners.  Here  is 
a  plan  ready  to  my  hand.  Let  me  find  that  lost  docu- 


"EVENTS,   EVENTS"  17 

ment,  appear  in  Vienna  and  announce  myself  Frederick 
Augustus,  the  son  of  the  Archduke  Karl !  I  knew  both 
men  intimately.  You  may  remember  that  Frederick 
and  I  were  born  in  the  same  month.  I,  too,  am  Frederick 
Augustus  !  We  passed  commonly  in  America  as  brothers. 
Many  of  the  personal  effects  of  Karl  and  Augustus  are  in 
my  keeping — by  the  Archduke's  own  wish.  You  have 
spent  your  life  studying  human  nature,  and  you  know  as 
well  as  I  do  that  half  the  world  would  believe  my  story  if 
I  said  I  was  the  Emperor's  nephew.  In  the  uneasy  and 
unstable  condition  of  your  absurd  empire  I  should  be 
hailed  as  a  diversion,  and  then — events,  events !" 

Count  von  Stroebel  listened  with  narrowing  eyes,  and 
his  lips  moved  in  an  effort  to  find  words  with  which  to 
break  in  upon  this  impious  declaration.  When  Armitage 
ceased  speaking  the  old  man  sank  back  and  glared  at 
him. 

frKarl  did  his  work  well.  You  are  quite  mad.  You 
will  do  well  to  go  back  to  America  before  the  police  dis 
cover  you." 

Armitage  rose  and  his  manner  changed  abruptly. 

"I  do  not  mean  to  trouble  or  annoy  you.  Please  pardon 
me !  Let  us  be  friends,  if  we  can  be  nothing  more." 

"It  is  too  late.  The  chasm  is  too  deep." 


18          THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

The  old  minister  sighed  deeply.  His  fingers  touched 
the  despatch  box  as  though  by  habit.  It  represented 
power,  majesty  and  the  iron  game  of  government.  The 
young  man  watched  him  eagerly. 

The  heavy,  tremulous  hands  of  Count  von  Stroebel 
passed  back  and  forth  over  the  box  caressingly.  Sud 
denly  he  bent  forward  and  spoke  with  a  new  and  gentler 
tone  and  manner. 

"I  have  given  my  life,  my  whole  life,  as  you  have  said, 
to  one  service — to  uphold  one  idea.  You  have  spoken 
of  that  work  with  contempt.  History,  I  believe,  will 
reckon  it  justly." 

"Your  place  is  secure — no  one  can  gainsay  that," 
broke  in  Armitage. 

"If  you  would  do  something  for  me — for  me — do 
something  for  Austria,  do  something  for  my  country  and 
yours !  You  have  wits ;  I  dare  say  you  have  courage.  I 
don't  care  what  that  service  may  be ;  I  don't  care  where 
or  how  you  perform  it.  I  am  not  so  near  gone  as  you 
may  think.  I  know  well  enough  that  they  are  waiting  for 
me  to  die;  but  I  am  in  no  hurry  to  afford  my  enemies 
that  pleasure.  But  stop  this  babble  of  yours  about  de 
mocracy.  Do  something  for  Austria — for  the  Empire 
that  I  have  held  here  under  my  hand  these  difficult  years 


"EVENTS,    EVENTS"  19 

— then  take  your  name  again — and  you  will  find  that 
kings  can  be  as  just  and  wise  as  mobs." 

"For  the  Empire — something  for  the  Empire  ?"  mur 
mured  the  young  man,  wondering. 

Count  Ferdinand  von  Stroebel  rose. 

"You  will  accept  the  commission — I  am  quite  sure 
you  will  accept.  I  leave  on  an  early  train,  and  I  shall 
not  see  you  again."  As  he  took  Armitage's  hand  he  scru 
tinized  him  once  more  with  particular  care ;  there  was  a 
lingering  caress  in  his  touch  as  he  detained  the  young 
man  for  an  instant ;  then  he  sighed  heavily. 

"Good  night ;  good-by  P  he  said  abruptly,  and  waved 
h  ;6  caller  toward  the  door. 


S3  THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

"He  has  a  sense  of  humor,"  the  girl  resumed.  "I  saw 
him  yesterday — " 

"You're  always  seeing  him :  you  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  yourself." 

"Don't  interrupt  me,  please.  As  I  was  saying,  I  saw 
him  laughing  over  the  Fliegende  Blatter." 

"But  that's  no  sign  he  has  a  sense  of  humor.  It  rather 
proves  that  he  hasn't.  I'm  disappointed  in  you,  Shirley. 
To  think  that  my  own  sister  should  be  able  to  tell  the 
color  of  a  wandering  blackguard's  eyes !" 

He  struck  a  match  viciously,  and  his  sister  laughed. 

"I  might  add  to  his  portrait.  That  blue  and  white 
scarf  is  tied  beautifully ;  and  his  profile  would  be  splen 
did  in  a  medallion.  I  believe  from  his  nose  he  may  be 
English,  after  all,"  she  added  with  a  dreamy  air  assumed 
to  add  to  her  brother's  impatience. 

"Which  doesn't  help  the  matter  materially,  that  I  can 
see !"  exclaimed  the  young  man.  "With  a  full  beard  he'd 
probably  look  like  a  Sicilian  bandit.  If  I  thought  he  was 
really  pursuing  you  in  this  darkly  mysterious  way  I 
should  certainly  give  him  a  piece  of  my  American  mind. 
You  might  suppose  that  a  girl  would  be  safe  traveling 
with  her  brother." 

"It  isn't  your  fault,  Dick,"  laughed  the  girl,   "You 


THE    CLAIBORXES,    OF   WASHINGTON    23 

% 

know  our  parents  dear  were  with  us  when  we  first  began 
to  notice  him — that  was  in  Eome.  And  now  that  we  are 
alone  he  continues  to  follow  our  trail  just  the  same.  It's 
really  diverting;  and  if  you  were  a  good  brother  you'd 
find  out  all  about  him,  and  we  might  even  do  stunts  to 
gether — the  three  of  us,  with  you  as  the  watchful  chap 
eron.  You  forget  how  I  have  worked  for  you,  Dick.  I 
took  great  chances  in  forcing  an  acquaintance  with  those 
frosty  English  people  at  Florence  just  because  you  were 
crazy  about  the  scrawny  blonde  who  wore  the  frightful 
hats.  I  wash  my  hands  of  you  hereafter.  Your  taste  in 
girls  is  horrible." 

"Your  mind  has  been  affected  by  reading  these  fake- 
kingdom  romances,  where  a  ridiculous  prince  gives  up 
home  and  mother  and  his  country  to  marry  the  usual 
beautiful  American  girl  who  travels  about  having 
silly  adventures.  I  belong  to  the  Know-nothing  Party 
• — America  for  Americans  and  only  white  men  on 
guard  \" 

"Yes,  Richard!  Your  sentiments  are  worthy,  but 
they'd  have  more  weight  if  I  hadn't  seen  you  staring 
your  eyes  out  every  time  we  came  within  a  mile  of  a 
penny  princess.  I  haven't  forgotten  your  disgraceful 
conduct  in  collecting  photographs  of  that  homely  daugh- 


22          THE   PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

"He  has  a  sense  of  humor/'  the  girl  resumed.  "I  saw 
him  yesterday — " 

"You're  always  seeing  him :  you  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  yourself." 

"Don't  interrupt  me,  please.  As  I  was  saying,  I  saw 
him  laughing  over  the  Fliegende  Blatter." 

"But  that's  no  sign  he  has  a  sense  of  humor.  It  rather 
proves  that  he  hasn't.  I'm  disappointed  in  you,  Shirley. 
To  think  that  my  own  sister  should  be  able  to  tell  the 
color  of  a  wandering  blackguard's  eyes !" 

He  struck  a  match  viciously,  and  his  sister  laughed. 

"I  might  add  to  his  portrait.  That  blue  and  white 
scarf  is  tied  beautifully ;  and  his  profile  would  be  splen 
did  in  a  medallion.  I  believe  from  his  nose  he  may  be 
English,  after  all,"  she  added  with  a  dreamy  air  assumed 
to  add  to  her  brother's  impatience. 

"Which  doesn't  help  the  matter  materially,  that  I  can 
see !"  exclaimed  the  young  man.  "With  a  full  beard  he'd 
probably  look  like  a  Sicilian  bindit.  If  I  thought  he  was 
really  pursuing  you  in  this  darkly  mysterious  way  I 
should  certainly  give  him  a  piece  of  my  American  mind. 
You  might  suppose  that  a  girl  would  be  safe  traveling 
with  her  brother." 

"It  isn't  your  fault,  Dick,"  laughed  the  girl,   "You 


THE    CLAIBORXES,    OF   WASHINGTON    23 

% 

know  our  parents  dear  were  with  us  when  we  first  began 
to  notice  him — that  was  in  Eome.  And  now  that  we  are 
alone  he  continues  to  follow  our  trail  just  the  same.  It's 
really  diverting;  and  if  you  were  a  good  brother  you'd 
find  out  all  about  him,  and  we  might  even  do  stunts  to 
gether — the  three  of  us,  with  you  as  the  watchful  chap 
eron.  You  forget  how  I  have  worked  for  you,  Dick.  I 
took  great  chances  in  forcing  an  acquaintance  with  those 
frosty  English  people  at  Florence  just  because  you  were 
crazy  about  the  scrawny  blonde  who  wore  the  frightful 
hats.  I  wash  my  hands  of  you  hereafter.  Your  taste  in 
girls  is  horrible." 

"Your  mind  has  been  affected  by  reading  these  fake- 
kingdom  romances,  where  a  ridiculous  prince  gives  up 
home  and  mother  and  his  country  to  marry  the  usual 
beautiful  American  girl  who  travels  about  having 
silly  adventures.  I  belong  to  the  Know-nothing  Party 
— America  for  Americans  and  only  white  men  on 
guard !" 

"Yes,  Richard!  Your  sentiments  are  worthy,  but 
they'd  have  more  weight  if  I  hadn't  seen  you  staring 
your  eyes  out  every  time  we  came  within  a  mile  of  a 
penny  princess.  I  haven't  forgotten  your  disgraceful 
conduct  in  collecting  photographs  of  that  homely  daugh- 


24  THE    PORT    OF    MISSING-   MEN" 

ter  of  a  certain  English  duke.  We'll  call  the  incident 
closed,  little  brother." 

"Our  friend  Chauvenet,  even/'  continued  Captain 
Claiborne,  "is  less  persistent — less  gloomily  present  on 
the  horizon.  We  haven't  seen  him  for  a  week  or  two. 
But  he  expects  to  visit  Washington  this  spring.  His 
waistcoats  are  magnificent.  The  governor  shies  every 
time  the  fellow  unbuttons  his  coat." 

"Mr.  Chauvenet  is  an  accomplished  man  of  the  world," 
declared  Shirley  with  an  insincere  sparkle  in  her  eyes. 

"He  lives  by  his  wits — and  lives  well." 

Claiborne  dismissed  Chauvenet  and  turned  again 
toward  the  strange  young  man,  who  was  still  deep  in 
his  newspaper. 

"He's  reading  the  Neue  Freie  Presse,"  remarked 
Dick,  "by  which  token  I  argue  that  he's  some  sort  of  a 
Dutchman.  He's  probably  a  traveling  agent  for  a 
Vienna  glass-factory,  or  a  drummer  for  a  cheap  wine- 
house,  or  the  agent  for  a  Munich  brewery.  That  would 
account  for  his  travels.  We  simply  fall  in  with  his 
commercial  itinerary." 

"You  seem  to  imply,  brother,  that  my  charms  are 
not  in  themselves  sufficient.  But  a  commercial  traveler 
hardly  commands  that  fine  repose,  that  distinction — 


THE    CLAIBORNES,    OF   WASHINGTON    25 

that  air  of  having  been  places  and  seen  things  and 
known  people  —  " 

"Tush!  I  have  seen  American  book  agents  who  had 
all  that  —  even  the  air  of  having  been  places  !  Your 
instincts  ought  to  serve  you  better,  Shirley.  It's  well 
that  we  go  on  to-morrow.  I  shall  warn  mother  and  the 
governor  that  you  need  watching." 

Shirley  Claiborne's  eyes  rested  again  upon  the  calip 
reader  of  the  Neue  Freie  Presse.  The  waiter  was  now 
placing  certain  dishes  upon  the  table  without,  appar 
ently,  interesting  the  young  gentleman  in  the  least. 
Then  the  unknown  dropped  his  newspaper,  and  buttered 
a  roll  reflectively.  His  gaze  swept  the  room  for  the  first 
time,  passing  over  the  heads  of  Miss  Claiborne  and  her 
brother  unseeingly  —  with,  perhaps,  too  studied  an  air  of 
indifference. 

"He  has  known  real  sorrow,"  persisted  Shirley,  her 
elbows  on  the  table,  her  fingers  interlocked,  her  chin 
resting  idly  upon  them.  "He's  traveling  in  an  effort  to 
forget  a  blighting  grief,"  the  girl  continued  with  mock 


"Then  let  us  leave  him  in  peace  !   We  can't  decently 
linger  in  the  presence  of  his  sacred  sorrow." 

Captain  Kichard  Claiborne  and  his  sister  Shirley  had 


26  THE   PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

stopped  at  Geneva  to  spend  a  week  with  a  younger 
brother,  who  was  in  school  there,  and  were  to  join  their 
father  and  mother  at  Liverpool  and  sail  for  home  at 
once.  The  Claibornes  were  permanent  residents  of 
Washington,  where  Hilton  Claiborne,  a  former  ambas 
sador  to  two  of  the  greatest  European  courts,  was 
counsel  for  several  of  the  embassies  and  a  recognized 
authority  in  international  law.  He  had  been  to  Rome  to 
report  to  the  Italian  government  the  result  of  his  efforts 
to  collect  damages  from  the  United  States  for  the 
slaughter  of  Italian  laborers  in  a  railroad  strike,  and 
had  proceeded  thence  to  England  on  other  professional 
business. 

Dick  Claiborne  had  been  ill,  and  was  abroad  on  leave 
in  an  effort  to  shake  off  the  lingering  effects  of  typhoid 
fever  contracted  in  the  Philippines.  He  was  under  or 
ders  to  report  for  duty  at  Fort  Myer  on  the  first  of  April, 
and  it  was  now  late  March.  He  and  his  sister  had  spent 
the  morning  at  their  brother's  school  and  were  enjoying 
a  late  dejeuner  at  the  Monte  Rosa.  There  existed  be 
tween  them  a  pleasant  comradeship  that  was  in  no  wise 
affected  by  divergent  tastes  and  temperaments.  Dick 
had  just  attained  his  captaincy,  and  was  the  youngest 
man  of  his  rank  in  the  service.  He  did  not  know  an  or- 


THE    CLAIBOKNES,    OF   WASHINGTON"    2? 

chid  from  a  hollyhock,  but  no  man  in  the  army  was  a 
better  judge  of  a  cavalry  horse,  and  if  a  Wagner  recital 
bored  him  to  death  his  spirit  rose,  nevertheless,  to  the 
bugle,  and  he  drilled  his  troop  until  he  could  play  with 
it  and  snap  it  about  him  like  a  whip. 

Shirley  Claiborne  had  been  out  of  college  a  year,  and 
afforded  a  pleasant  refutation  of  the  dull  theory  that 
advanced  education  destroys  a  girl's  charm,  or  buoy 
ancy,  or  whatever  it  is  that  is  so  greatly  admired  in 
young  womanhood.  She  gave  forth  the  impression  of 
vitality  and  strength.  She  was  beautifully  fair,  with  a 
high  color  that  accentuated  her  youthfulness.  Her 
brown  hair,  caught  up  from  her  brow  in  the  fashion  of 
the  early  years  of  the  century,  flashed  gold  in  sunlight. 

Much  of  Shirley's  girlhood  had  been  spent  in  the 
Virginia  hills,  where  Judge  Claiborne  had  long  main 
tained  a  refuge  from  the  heat  of  Washington.  From 
childhood  she  had  read  the  calendar  of  spring  as  it  is 
written  upon  the  landscape  itself.  Her  fingers  found 
by  instinct  the  first  arbutus;  she  knew  where  white 
violets  shone  first  upon  the  rough  breast  of  the  hillsides ; 
and  particular  patches  of  rhododendron  had  for  her, the 
intimate  interest  of  private  gardens. 

Undoubtedly  there  are  deities  fully  consecrated  to 


28  THE   PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

the  important  business  of  naming  girls,  so  happily  is 
that  task  accomplished.  Gladys  is  a  child  of  the 
spirit  of  mischief.  Josephine  wears  a  sweet  gravity, 
and  Mary,  too,  discourses  of  serious  matters.  Nora,  in 
some  incarnation,  has  seen  fairies  scampering  over  moor 
and  hill  and  the  remembrance  of  them  teases  her  mem 
ory.  Katherine  is  not  so  faithless  as  her  ways  might  lead 
you  to  believe.  Laura  without  dark  eyes  would  be  im 
possible,  and  her  predestined  Petrarch  would  never  de 
liver  his  sonnets.  Helen  may  be  seen  only  against  a 
background  of  Trojan  wall.  Gertrude  must  be  tall  and 
fair  and  ready  with  ballads  in  the  winter  twilight. 
Julia's  reserve  and  discretion  commend  her  to  you ;  but 
she  has  a  heart  of  laughter.  Anne  is  to  be  found  in  the 
rose  garden  with  clipping-shears  and  a  basket.  Hilda 
is  a  capable  person;  there  is  no  ignoring  her  militant 
character;  the  battles  of  Saxon  kings  ring  still  in  her 
blood.  Marjorie  has  scribbled  verses  in  secret,  and  Celia 
is  the  quietest  auditor  at  the  symphony.  And  you  may 
have  observed  that  there  is  no  button  on  Elizabeth's 
foil ;  you  do  well  not  to  clash  wits  with  her.  Do  you  say 
that  these  ascriptions  are  not  square  with  your  ex 
perience  ?  Then  verily  there  must  have  been  a  sad  mix 
ing  of  infant  candidates  for  the  font  in  your  parish. 


THE    CLAIBORNES,   OF   WASHINGTON    29 

Shirley,  in  such  case,  will  mean  nothing  to  you.  It  is  a 
waste  of  time  to  tell  you  that  the  name  may  become 
audible  without  being  uttered;  you  can  not  be  made  to 
understand  that  the  r  and  I  slip  into  each  other  as  rip 
ples  glide  over  pebbles  in  a  brook.  And  from  the  name  to 
the  girl — may  you  be  forever  denied  a  glimpse  of  Shir 
ley  Claiborne's  pretty  head,  her  brown  hair  and  dream- 
haunted  eyes,  if  you  do  not  first  murmur  the  name  with 
honest  liking. 

As  the  Claibornes  lingered  at  their  table  a  short  stout 
man  espied  them  from  the  door  and  advanced  beam 
ingly. 

"Ah,  my  dear  Shirley,  and  Dick!  Can  it  be  possi 
ble!  I  only  heard  by  the  merest  chance  that  you  were 
here.  But  Switzerland  is  the  real  meeting-place  of  the 
world." 

The  young  Americans  greeted  the  new-comer  cordially. 
A  waiter  placed  a  chair  for  him,  and  took  his  hat.  Ar 
thur  Singleton  was  an  American,  though  he  had  lived 
abroad  so  long  as  to  have  lost  his  identity  with  any  par 
ticular  city  or  state  of  his  native  land.  He  had  been  an 
attache  of  the  American  embassy  at  London  for  many 
years.  Administrations  changed  and  ambassadors  came 
and  went,  but  Singleton  was  never  molested.  It  was  said 


30          THE   PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

that  he  kept  his  position  on  the  score  of  his  wide  ac 
quaintance  ;  he  knew  every  one,  and  he  was  a  great  ped 
dler  of  gossip,  particularly  about  people  in  high  station. 

The  children  of  Hilton  Claiborne  were  not  to  be  over 
looked.  He  would  impress  himself  upon  them,  as  was 
his  way;  for  he  was  sincerely  social  by  instinct,  and 
would  go  far  to  do  a  kindness  for  people  he  really  liked. 

"Ah  me !  You  have  arrived  opportunely,  Miss  Clai 
borne.  There's  mystery  in  the  air — the  great  Stroebel  is 
here — under  this  very  roof  and  in  a  dreadfully  bad  hu 
mor.  He  is  a  dangerous  man — a  very  dangerous  man, 
but  failing  fast.  Poor  Austria !  Count  Ferdinand  von 
Stroebel  can  have  no  successor — he's  only  a  sort  of  hold 
over  from  the  nineteenth  century,  and  with  him  and  his 
Emperor  out  of  the  way — what  ?  For  my  part  I  see  only 
dark  days  ahead;"  and  he  concluded  with  a  little  sigh 
that  implied  crumbling  thrones  and  falling  dynasties. 

"We  met  him  in  Vienna,"  said  Shirley  Claiborne, 
"when  father  was  there  before  the  Ecuador  Claims  Com 
mission.  He  struck  me  as  being  a  delightful  old  grizzly 
bear." 

"He  will  have  his  place  in  history ;  he  is  a  statesman 
of  the  old  blood  and  iron  school;  he  is  the  peer  of 
Bismarck,  and  some  things  he  has  done.  He  holds  more 


THE    CLAIBORNES,    OF   WASHINGTON     31 

secrets  than  any  other  man  in  Europe — and  you  may  be 
quite  sure  that  they  will  die  with  him.  He  will  leave  no 
memoirs  to  be  poked  over  by  his  enemies — no  post-mor 
tem  confidences  from  him !" 

The  reader  of  the  Neue  Freie  Presse,  preparing  to 
leave  his  table,  tore  from  the  newspaper  an  article  that 
seemed  to  have  attracted  him,  placed  it  in  his  card- 
case,  and  walked  toward  the  door.  The  eyes  of  Arthur 
Singleton  lighted  in  recognition,  and  the  attache,  mut 
tering  an  apology  to  the  Claibornes,  addressed  the  young 
gentleman  cordially. 

"Why,  Armitage,  of  all  men !"  and  he  rose,  still  fac 
ing  the  Claibornes,  with  an  air  of  embracing  the  young 
Americans  in  his  greetings.  He  never  liked  to  lose  an 
auditor;  and  he  would,  in  no  circumstances,  miss  a 
chance  to  display  the  wide  circumference  of  his  ac 
quaintance. 

"Shirley — Miss  Claiborne — allow  me  to  present  Mr. 
Armitage."  The  young  army  officer  and  Armitage  then 
shook  hands,  and  the  three  men  stood  for  a  moment, 
detained,  it  seemed,  by  the  old  attache,  who  had  no  en 
gagement  for  the  next  hour  or  two  and  resented  the  idea 
of  being  left  alone. 

"One  always  meets  Armitage!"  declared  Singleton. 


32  THE   PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

"He  knows  our  America  as  well  as  we  do — and  very 
well  indeed — for  an  Englishman." 

Armitage  bowed  gravely. 

"You  make  it  necessary  again  for  me  to  disavow  any 
allegiance  to  the  powers  that  rule  Great  Britain.  I'm 
really  a  fair  sort  of  American — I  have  sometimes  told 
New  York  people  all  about — Colorado — Montana — New 
Mexico !" 

His  voice  and  manner  were  those  of  a  gentleman. 
His  color,  as  Shirley  Claiborne  now  observed,  was  that 
of  an  outdoors  man ;  she  was  familiar  with  it  in  soldiers 
and  sailors,  and  knew  that  it  testified  to  a  vigorous  and 
wholesome  life. 

"Of  course  you're  not  English !"  exclaimed  Singleton, 
annoyed  as  he  remembered,  or  thought  he  did,  that 
Armitage  had  on  some  other  occasion  made  the  same 
protest. 

"I'm  really  getting  sensitive  about  it,"  said  Armi 
tage,  more  to  the  Claibornes  than  to  Singleton.  frBut 
must  we  all  be  from  somewhere?  Is  it  so  melancholy  a 
plight  to  be  a  man  without  a  country  ?" 

The  mockery  in  his  tone  was  belied  by  the  good  humor 
in  his  face ;  his  eyes  caught  Shirley's  passingly,  and  she 
smiled  at  him — it  seemed  a  natural,  a  perfectly  inevita- 


THE    CLAIBORNES,   OF   WASHINGTON    33 

ble  thing  to  do.  She  liked  the  kind  tolerance  with  which 
he  suffered  the  babble  of  Arthur  Singleton,  whom  some 
one  had  called  an  international  bore.  The  young  man's 
dignity  was  only  an  expression  of  self-respect;  his  ap 
preciation  of  the  exact  proprieties  resulting  from  this 
casual  introduction  to  herself  and  her  brother  was 
perfect.  He  was  already  withdrawing.  A  waiter  had 
followed  him  with  his  discarded  newspaper — and  Armi- 
tage  took  it  and  idly  dropped  it  on  a  chair. 

"Have  you  heard  the  news,  Armitage  ?  The  Austrian 
sphinx  is  here — in  this  very  house !"  whispered  Single 
ton  impressively. 

"Yes ;  to  be  sure,  Count  von  Stroebel  is  here,  but  he 
will  probably  not  remain  long.  The  Alps  will  soon  be 
safe  again.  I  am  glad  to  have  met  you."  He  bowed  to 
the  Claibornes  inclusively,  nodded  in  response  to  Sin 
gleton's  promise  to  look  him  up  later,  and  left  them. 

When  Shirley  and  her  brother  reached  their  common 
sitting-room  Dick  Claiborne  laughingly  held  up  the  copy 
of  the  Neue  Freie  Presse  which  Armitage  had  cast  aside 
at  their  table. 

"Now  we  shall  know!"  he  declared,  unfolding  the 
newspaper. 

"Know  what,  Dick?" 


34  THE    POET    OF    MISSING    MEN 

"At  least  what  our  friend  without  a  country  is  so  in 
terested  in." 

He  opened  the  paper,  from  which  half  a  column  had 
been  torn,  noted  the  date,  rang  the  bell,  and  ordered  a 
copy  of  the  same  issue.  When  it  was  brought  he  opened 
it,  found  the  place,  laughed  loudly,  and  passed  the  sheet 
ever  to  his  sister. 

"Oh,  Shirley,  Shirley !  This  is  almost  too  much !"  he 
cried,  watching  her  as  her  eyes  swept  the  article.  She 
turned  away  to  escape  his  noise,  and  after  a  glance  threw 
down  the  paper  in  disgust.  The  article  dealt  in  detail 
with  Austro-Hungarian  finances,  and  fairly  bristled  with 
figures  and  sage  conclusions  based  upon  them. 

"Isn't  that  the  worst !"  exclaimed  Shirley,  smiling 
ruefully. 

"He's  certainly  a  romantic  figure  ready  to  your  hand. 
Probably  a  bank-clerk  who  makes  European  finance  his 
recreation." 

"He  isn't  an  Englishman,  at  any  rate.  He  repudiated 
the  idea  with  scorn." 

"Well,  your  Mr.  Armitage  didn't  seem  so  awfully  ex 
cited  at  meeting  Singleton;  but  he  seemed  rather  satis 
fied  with  your  appearance,  to  put  it  mildly.  I  wonder  if 
he  had  arranged  with  Singleton  to  pass  by  in  that  purely 


THE    CLAIBOKNES,    OF  WASHINGTON    35 

incidental  way,  just  for  the  privilege  of  making  your 
acquaintance  I" 

"Don't  be  foolish,  Dick.  It's  unbecoming  an  officer 
and  a  gentleman.  But  if  you  should  see  Mr.  Singleton 
again — " 

"Yes — not  if  I  see  him  first!"  ejaculated  Claiborne. 

"Well,  you  might  ask  him  who  Mr.  Armitage  is.  It 
would  be  amusing — and  satisfying — to  know/' 

Later  in  the  day  the  old  attache  fell  upon  Claiborne  in 
the  smoking-room  and  stopped  to  discuss  a  report  that  a 
change  was  impending  in  the  American  State  Depart 
ment.  Changes  at  Washington  did  not  trouble  Single 
ton,  who  was  sure  of  his  tenure.  He  said  as  much;  and 
after  some  further  talk,  Claiborne  remarked : 

"Your  friend  Armitage  seems  a  good  sort." 

"Oh,  yes ;  a  capital  talker,  and  thoroughly  well  posted 
in  affairs." 

"Yes,  he  seemed  interesting.  Do  you  happen  to  know 
where  he  lives — when  he's  at  home  ?" 

"Lord  bless  you,  boy,  I  don't  know  anything  about 
Armitage!"  spluttered  Singleton,  with  the  emphasis  so 
thrown  as  to  imply  that  of  course  in  any  other  branch 
of  human  knowledge  he  would  be  found  abundantly 
qualified  to  answer  questions. 


36  THE   PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

"But  you  introduced  us  to  him — my  sister  cud  me. 
I  assumed — " 

"My  dear  Claiborne,  I'm  always  introducing  people ! 
It's  my  business  to  introduce  people.  Armitage  is  all 
right.  He's  always  around  everywhere.  I've  dined  with 
him  in  Paris,  and  I've  rarely  seen  a  man  order  a  better 
dinner." 


CHAPTEE  III 

DAEK   TIDINGS 

The  news  I  bring  is  heavy  in  my  tongue. — Shakespeare, 

The  second  day  thereafter  Shirley  Claiborne  went  into 
a  jeweler's  on  the  Grand  Quai  to  purchase  a  trinket  that 
had  caught  her  eye,  while  she  waited  for  Dick,  who  had 
gone  off  in  their  carriage  to  the  post-office  to  send  some 
telegrams.  It  was  a  small  shop,  and  the  time  early  after 
noon,  when  few  people  were  about.  A  man  who  had  pre^ 
ceded  her  was  looking  at  watches,  and  seemed  deeply 
absorbed  in  this  occupation.  She  heard  his  inquiries  as 
to  quality  and  price,  and  knew  that  it  was  Armitage's 
voice  before  she  recognized  his  tall  figure.  She  made  her 
purchase  quickly,  and  was  about  to  leave  the  shop,  when 
he  turned  toward  her  and  she  bowed. 

"Good  afternoon,  Miss  Claiborne.  These  are  very 
tempting  bazaars,  aren't  they  ?  If  the  abominable  tariff 
laws  of  America  did  not  give  us  pause — " 

He  bent  above  her,  hat  in  hand,  smiling.  He  had  con- 
37 


38          THE   PORT    OF.   MISSING   MEN 

eluded  the  purchase  of  a  watch,  which  the  shopkeeper 
was  now  wrapping  in  a  box. 

"I  have  just  purchased  a  little  remembrance  for  my 
ranch  foreman  out  in  Montana,  and  before  I  can  place 
it  in  his  hands  it  must  be  examined  and  appraised  and 
all  the  pleasure  of  the  gift  destroyed  by  the  custom  of 
ficers  in  New  York.  I  hope  you  are  a  good  smuggler, 
Miss  Claiborne." 

"I'd  like  to  be.  Women  are  supposed  to  have  a  knack 
at  the  business;  but  my  father  is  so  patriotic  that  he 
makes  me  declare  everything." 

"Patriotism  will  carry  one  far;  but  I  object  both  to 
being  taxed  and  to  the  alternative  of  corrupting  the 
gentlemen  who  lie  in  wait  at  the  receipt  of  customs." 

"Of  course  the  answer  is  that  Americans  should  buy 
at  home,"  replied  Shirley.  She  received  her  change,  and 
Armitage  placed  his  small  package  in  his  pocket. 

"My  brother  expected  to  meet  me  here ;  he  ran  off  with 
our  carriage,"  Shirley  explained. 

"These  last  errands  are  always  trying — there  are  in 
numerable  things  one  would  like  to  come  back  for  from 
mid-ocean,  tariff  or  no  tariff." 

"There's  the  wireless,"  said  Shirley.  "In  time  we 
shall  be  able  to  commit  our  afterthoughts  to  it.  But 


DARK   TIDINGS  39 

lost  views  can  hardly  be  managed  that  way.  'After  I  get 
home  I  shall  think  of  scores  of  things  I  should  like  to 
see  again — that  photographs  don't  give." 

"Such  as—  ?" 

"Oh — the  way  the  Pope  looks  when  he  gives  his  bless- 
ing  at  St.  Peter's;  and  the  feeling  you  have  when  you' 
stand  by  Napoleon's  tomb — the  awfulness  of  what  he  did 
and  was — and  being  here  in  Switzerland,  where  I  always 
feel  somehow  the  pressure  of  all  the  past  of  Europe 
about  me.  Now," — and  she  laughed  lightly, — "I  have 
made  a  most  serious  confession." 

"It  is  a  new  idea — that  of  surveying  the  ages  from 
these  mountains.  They  must  be  very  wise  after  all  these 
years,  and  they  have  certainly  seen  men  and  nations  do 
many  evil  and  wretched  things.  But  the  history  of  the 
world  is  all  one  long  romance — a  tremendous  story." 

"That  is  what  makes  me  sorry  to  go  home,"  said 
Shirley  meditatively.  "We  are  so  new — still  in  the  mak 
ing,  and  absurdly  raw.  When  we  have  a  war,  it  is  just1 
politics,  with  scandals  about  what  the  soldiers  have  to 
eat,  and  that  sort  of  thing ;  and  there's  a  fuss  about  pen 
sions,  and  the  heroic  side  of  it  is  lost." 

"But  it  is  easy  to  overestimate  the  weight  of  history 
and  tradition.  The  glory  of  dead  Caesar  doesn't  do  the 


40 

peasant  any  good.  When  you  see  Italian  laborers  at  work 
in  America  digging  ditches  or  laying  railroad  ties,  or 
find  Norwegian  farmers  driving  their  plows  into  the  new 
hard  soil  of  the  Dakotas,  you  don't  think  of  their  past 
as  much  as  of  their  future — the  future  of  the  whole  hu 
man  race." 

Armitage  had  been  the  subject  of  so  much  jesting  be 
tween  Dick  and  herself  that  it  seemed  strange  to  be  talk 
ing  to  him.  His  face  brightened  pleasantly  when  he 
spoke ;  his  eyes  were  grayer  than  she  had  mockingly  de 
scribed  them  for  her  brother's  benefit  the  day  before. 
His  manner  was  gravely  courteous,  and  she  did  not  at 
all  believe  that  he  had  followed  her  about. 

Her  ideals  of  men  were  colored  by  the  American 
prejudice  in  favor  of  those  who  aim  high  and  venture 
much.  In  her  childhood  she  had  read  Malory  and  Frois- 
sart  with  a  boy's  delight.  She  possessed,  too,  that  poetic 
sense  of  the  charm  of  "the  spirit  of  place"  that  is  the 
natural  accompaniment  of  the  imaginative  temperament. 
The  cry  of  bugles  sometimes  brought  tears  to  her  eyes ; 
her  breath  came  quickly  when  she  sat — as  she  often  did 
— in  the  Fort  Myer  drill  hall  at  Washington  and 
watched  the  alert  cavalrymen  dashing  toward  the  specta 
tors'  gallery  in  the  mimic  charge.  The  work  that  brave 


DAEK   TIDINGS  41 

men  do  she  admired  above  anything  else  in  the  world. 
As  a  child  in  Washington  she  had  looked  wonderingly 
upon  the  statues  of  heroes  and  the  frequent  military 
pageants  of  the  capital ;  and  she  had  wept  at  the  solemn 
pomp  of  military  funerals.  Once  on  a  battleship  she  had 
thrilled  at  the  salutes  of  a  mighty  fleet  in  the  Hudson 
below  the  tomb  of  Grant ;  and  soon  thereafter  had  felt 
awe  possess  her  as  she  gazed  upon  the  white  marble 
effigy  of  Lee  in  the  chapel  at  Lexington;  for  the  con 
templation  of  heroes  was  dear  to  her,  and  she  was  proud 
to  believe  that  her  father,  a  veteran  of  the  Civil  "War, 
and  her  soldier  brother  were  a  tie  between  herself  and 
the  old  heroic  times. 

Armitage  was  aware  that  a  jeweler's  shop  was  hardly 
the  place  for  extended  conversation  with  a  young  woman 
whom  he  scarcely  knew,  but  he  lingered  in  the  joy  of 
hearing  this  American  girl's  voice,  and  what  she  said 
interested  him  immensely.  He  had  seen  her  first  in 
Paris  a  few  months  before  at  an  exhibition  of  battle 
paintings.  He  had  come  upon  her  standing  quite  alone 
before  High  Tide  at  Gettysburg,  the  picture  of  the 
year;  and  he  had  noted  the  quick  mounting  of  color 
to  her  cheeks  as  the  splendid  movement  of  the  painting 
— its  ardor  and  fire — took  hold  of  her.  He  saw  her 


42  THE   PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

again  in  Florence;  and  it  was  from  there  that  he  had 
deliberately  followed  the  Claibornes. 

His  own  plans  were  now  quite  unsettled  by  his  inter 
view  with  Von  Stroebel.  He  fully  expected  Chauvenet 
in  Geneva;  the  man  had  apparently  been  on  cordial 
terms  with  the  Claibornes ;  and  as  he  had  seemed  to  be 
master  of  his  own  time,  it  was  wholly  possible  that  he 
would  appear  before  the  Claibornes  left  Geneva.  It  was 
now  the  second  day  after  Von  Stroebel's  departure,  and 
Armitage  began  to  feel  uneasy. 

He  stood  with  Shirley  quite  near  the  shop  door, 
watching  for  Captain  Claiborne  to  come  back  with  the 
carriage. 

"But  America — isn't  America  the  most  marvelous 
product  of  romance  in  the  world, — its  discovery, — the 
successive  conflicts  that  Jed  up  to  the  realization  of  de 
mocracy?  Consider  the  worthless  idlers  of  the  Middle 
Ages  going  about  banging  one  another's  armor  with 
battle-axes.  Let  us  have  peace,  said  the  tired  warrior." 

"He  could  afford  to  say  it;  he  was  the  victor/'  said 
Shirley. 

"Ah!  there  is  Captain  Claiborne.  I  am  indebted  to 
you,  Miss  Claiborne,  for  many  pleasant  suggestions." 

The  carriage  was  at  the  door,  and  Dick  Claiborne 
came  up  to  them  at  once  and  bowed  to  Armitage. 


DARK   TIDINGS  43 

"There  is  great  news :  Count  Ferdinand  von  Stroebel 
was  murdered  in  his  railway  carriage  between  here  and 
Vienna;  they  found  him  dead  at  Innsbruck  this  morn- 
ing." 

"Is  it  possible!  Are  you  quite  sure  he  was  mur 
dered?" 

It  was  Armitage  who  asked  the  question.  He  spoke 
in  a  tone  quite  matter-of-fact  and  colorless,  so  that  Shir 
ley  looked  at  him  in  surprise ;  but  she  saw  that  he  was 
very  grave;  and  then  instantly  some  sudden  feeling 
flashed  in  his  eyes. 

"There  is  no  doubt  of  it.  It  was  an  atrocious  crime ; 
the  count  was  an  old  man  and  feeble  when  we  saw  him 
the  other  day.  He  wasn't  fair  game  for  an  assassin," 
said  Claiborne. 

"No;  he  deserved  a  better  fate,"  remarked  Armitage. 

"Ho  was  a  grand  old  man,"  said  Shirley,  as  they  left 
the  shop  and  walked  toward  the  carriage.  "Father  ad 
mired  him  greatly ;  and  he  was  very  kind  to  us  in  Vien 
na.  It  is  terrible  to  think  of  his  being  murdered." 

"Yes ;  he  was  a  wise  and  useful  man,"  observed  Armi 
tage,  still  grave.  "He  was  one  of  the  great  men  of  his 
time." 

His  tone  was  not  that  of  one  who  discusses  casually 


44:          THE   PORT   OF   MISSING   MEN 

a  bit  of  news  of  the  hour,  and  Captain  Claiborne  paused 
a  moment  at  the  carriage  door,  curious  as  to  what  Armi- 
tage  might  say  further. 

"And  now  we  shall  see — •"  began  the  young  American. 

"We  shall  see  Johann  Wilhelm  die  of  old  age  within 
a  few  years  at  most;  and  then  Charles  Louis,  his  son, 
will  be  the  Emperor-king  in  his  place ;  and  if  he  should 
go  hence  without  heirs,  his  cousin  Francis  would  rule  in 
the  house  of  his  fathers;  and  Francis  is  corrupt  and 
worthless,  and  quite  necessary  to  the  plans  of  destiny 
for  the  divine  order  of  kings." 

John  Armitage  stood  beside  the  carriage  quite  erect, 
his  hat  and  stick  and  gloves  in  his  right  hand,  his  left 
thrust  lightly  into  the  side  pocket  of  his  coat. 

"A  queer  devil,"  observed  Claiborne,  as  they  drove 
away.  "A  solemn  customer,  and  not  cheerful  enough  to 
make  a  good  drummer.  By  what  singular  chance  did  he 
find  you  in  that  shop  ?" 

"I  found  him,  dearest  brother,  if  I  must  make  the 
humiliating  disclosure." 

"I  shouldn't  have  believed  it !  I  hardly  thought  you 
would  carry  it  so  far." 

"And  while  he  may  be  a  salesman  of  imitation  cut- 
glass,  he  has  expensive  tastes." 


DARK   TIDINGS  45 

crLord  help  us,  he  hasn't  been  buying  you  a  watch  ?" 

"No;  he  was  lavishing  himself  on  a  watch  for  the 
foreman  of  his  ranch  in  Montana." 

"Humph !  you're  chaffing." 

"Not  in  the  least.  He  paid — I  couldn't  help  being  a 
witness  to  the  transaction — he  actually  paid  five  hun 
dred  francs  for  a  watch  to  give  to  the  foreman  of  his 
ranch — his  ranch,  mind  you,  in  Montana,  U.  S.  A. 
He  spoke  of  it  incidentally,  as  though  he  were  always 
buying  watches  for  cowboys.  Now  where  does  that  leave 
us?" 

"I'm  afraid  it  rather  does  for  my  theory.  I'll  look 
him  up  when  I  get  home.  Montana  isn't  a  good  hiding- 
place  any  more.  But  it  was  odd  the  way  he  acted  about 
old  Stroebel's  death.  You  don't  suppose  he  knew  him, 
do  you  ?" 

"If  s  possible.  Poor  Count  von  Stroebel !  Many  hearts 
are  lighter,  now  that  he's  done  for." 

"Yes ;  and  there  will  be  something  doing  in  Austria, 
now  that  he's  out  of  the  way." 

Four  days  passed,  in  which  they  devoted  themselves 
to  their  young  brother.  The  papers  were  filled  with  ac 
counts  of  Count  von  Stroebel's  death  and  speculations 
as  to  its  effect  on  the  future  of  Austria  and  the  peace  of 


46  THE   PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN" 

Europe.  The  Claibornes  saw  nothing  of  Armitage,, 
Dick  asked  for  him  in  the  hotel,  and  found  that  he  had 
gone,  but  would  return  in  a  few  days. 

It  was  on  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day  that  Armi 
tage  appeared  suddenly  at  the  hotel  as  Dick  and  his  sis 
ter  waited  for  a  carriage  to  carry  them  to  their  train. 
He  had  just  returned,  and  they  met  by  the  narrowest 
margin.  He  walked  with  them  to  the  door  of  the  Monte 
Rosa. 

"We  are  running  for  the  King  Edward,  and  hope  for 
a  day  in  London  before  we  sail.  Perhaps  we  shall  see 
you  one  of  these  days  in  America,"  said  Claiborne,  with 
some  malice,  it  must  be  confessed,  for  his  sister's  bene 
fit. 

"That  is  possible;  I  am  very  fond  of  Washington," 
responded  Armitage  carelessly. 

"Of  course  you  will  look  us  up,"  persisted  Dick.  "I 
shall  be  at  Fort  Myer  for  a  while — and  it  will  always  be 
a  pleasure — " 

Claiborne  turned  for  a  last  word  with  the  porter 
about  their  baggage,  and  Armitage  stood  talking  to 
Shirley,  who  had  already  entered  the  carriage. 

"Oh,  is  there  any  news  of  Count  von  Stroebel's  assas 
sin?"  she  asked,  noting  the  newspaper  that  Armitage 
held  in  his  hand. 


DAEK   TIDINGS  47 

"Nothing.  It's  a  very  mysterious  and  puzzling  af 
fair." 

"It's  horrible  to  think  such  a  thing  possible — he  was 
a  wonderful  old  man.  But  very  likely  they  will  find 
the  murderer." 

"Yes;  undoubtedly." 

Then,  seeing  her  brother  beating  his  hands  together 
impatiently  behind  Armitage's  back — a  back  whose  am 
ple  shoulders  were  splendidly  silhouetted  in  the  carriage 
door — Shirley  smiled  in  her  joy  of  the  situation,  and 
would  have  prolonged  it  for  her  brother's  benefit  even  to 
the  point  of  missing  the  train,  if  the  matter  had  been 
left  wholly  in  her  hands.  It  amused  her  to  keep  the  con 
versation  pitched  in  the  most  impersonal  key. 

"The  secret  police  will  scour  Europe  in  pursuit  of 
the  assassin,"  she  observed. 

"Yes/'replied  Armitage  gravely. 

He  thought  her  brown  traveling  gown,  with  hat  and 
gloves  to  match,  exceedingly  becoming,  and  he  liked  the 
full,  deep  tones  of  her  voice,  and  the  changing  light  of 
her  eyes ;  and  a  certain  dimple  in  her  left  cheek — he  had 
assured  himself  that  it  had  no  counterpart  on  the  right 
— made  the  fate  of  principalities  and  powers  seem,  at 
the  moment,  an  idle  thing. 


48          THE   PORT   OF   MISSING   MEN 

"The  truth  will  be  known  before  we  sail,  no  doubt/' 
said  Shirley.  "The  assassin  may  be  here  in  Geneva  by 
this  time." 

"That  is  quite  likely,"  said  John  Armitage,  with  un 
broken  gravity.  "In  fact,  I  rather  expect  him  here,  or 
I  should  be  leaving  to-day  myself." 

He  bowed  and  made  way  for  the  vexed  and  chafing 
Claiborne,  who  gave  his  hand  to  Armitage  hastily  and 
jumped  into  the  carriage. 

"Your  imitation  cut-glass  drummer  has  nearly  caused 
us  to  miss  our  train.  Thank  the  Lord,  we've  seen  the  last 
of  that  fellow." 

Shirley  said  nothing,  but  gazed  out  of  the  window 
with  a  wondering  look  in  her  eyes.  And  on  the  way  to 
Liverpool  she  thought  often  of  Armitage's  last  words. 
"I  rather  expect  him  here,  or  I  should  be  leaving  to-day 
myself,"  he  had  said. 

She  was  not  sure  whether,  if  it  had  not  been  for  those 
words,  she  would  have  thought  of  him  again  at  all.  She 
remembered  him  as  he  stood  framed  in  the  carriage  door 
— his  gravity,  his  fine  ease,  the  impression  he  gave  of 
great  physical  strength,  and  of  resources  of  character 
and  courage. 

And  so  Shirley  Claiborne  left  Geneva,  not  knowing 


DAKK   TIDINGS  49 

the  curious  web  that  fate  had  woven  for  her,  nor  how 
those  last  words  spoken  by  Armitage  at  the  carriage  door 
were  to  link  her  to  strange  adventures  at  the  very  thresh 
old  of  her  American  home. 


CHAPTEE  IV 

JOHN   ARMITAGE   A   PRISONER 

All  things  are  bright  in  the  track  of  the  sun, 

All  things  are  fair  I  see; 
And  the  light  in  a  golden  tide  has  run 

Down  out  of  the  sky  to  me. 

And  the  world  turns  round  and  round  and  round, 
And  my  thought  sinks  into  the  sea; 

The  sea  of  peace  and  of  joy  profound 
Whose  tide  is  mystery. 

—8.  W.  DuflieU. 

The  man  whom  John  Annitage  expected  arrived  at 
the  Hotel  Monte  Eosa  a  few  hours  after  the  Claibornes' 
departure. 

While  he  waited,  Mr.  Armitage  employed  his  time  to 
advantage.  He  carefully  scrutinized  his  wardrobe,  and 
after  a  process  of  elimination  and  substitution  he  packed 
his  raiment  in  two  trunks  and  was  ready  to  leave  the 
inn  at  ten  minutes'  notice.  Between  trains,  when  not 
engaged  in  watching  the  incoming  travelers,  he  smoked 
a  pipe  over  various  packets  of  papers  and  letters,  and 

50 


JOHN   ARMITAGE   A   PRISONER          51 

;hese  he  burned  with  considerable  care.  All  the  French 
md  German  newspaper  accounts  of  the  murder  of  Count 
ron  Stroebel  he  read  carefully ;  and  even  more  particu- 
arly  he  studied  the  condition  of  affairs  in  Vienna  con 
sequent  upon  the  great  statesman's  death.  Secret 
Agents  from  Vienna  and  detectives  from  Paris  had  vis- 
ted  Geneva  in  their  study  of  this  astounding  crime,  and 
lad  made  much  fuss  and  asked  many  questions;  but 
>tr.  John  Armitage  paid  no  heed  to  them.  He  had  held 
he  last  conversation  of  length  that  any  one  had  en- 
oyed  with  Count  Ferdinand  von  Stroebel,  but  the  fact 
f  this  interview  was  known  to  no  one,  unless  to  one  or 
wo  hotel  servants,  and  these  held  a  very  high  opinion 
f  Mr.  Armitage's  character,  based  on  his  generosity  in 
he  matter  of  gold  coin;  and  there  could,  of  course,  be 
.o  possible  relationship  between  so  shocking  a  tragedy 
nd  a  chance  acquaintance  between  two  travelers.  Mr. 
irmitage  knew  nothing  that  he  cared  to  impart  to  de-( 
actives,  and  a  great  deal  that  he  had  no  intention  of 
nparting  to  any  one.  He  accumulated  a  remarkable 
ssortment  of  time-tables  and  advertisements  of  trans- 
tlantic  sailings  against  sudden  need,  and  even  engaged 
assage  on  three  steamers  sailing  from  English  and 
Vench  porte  within  the  week. 


53 

He  expected  that  the  person  for  whom  he  waited 
would  go  direct  to  the  Hotel  Monte  Eosa  for  the  reason 
that  Shirley  Claiborne  had  been  there;  and  Armitage 
was  not  mistaken.  When  this  person  learned  that  the 
Claihornes  had  left,  he  would  doubtless  hurry  after 
them.  This  is  the  conclusion  that  was  reached  by  Mr. 
Armitage,  who,  at  times,  was  singularly  happy  in  his 
speculations  as  to  the  mental  processes  of  other  people. 
Sometimes,  however,  he  made  mistakes,  as  will  appear. 

The  gentleman  for  whom  John  Armitage  had  been 
waiting  arrived  alone,  and  was  received  as  a  distin 
guished  guest  by  the  landlord. 

Monsieur  Chauvenet  inquired  for  his  friends  the  Clai- 
bornes,  and  was  clearly  annoyed  to  find  that  they  had 
gone ;  and  no  sooner  had  this  intelligence  been  conveyed 
to  him  than  he,  too,  studied  time-tables  and  consulted 
steamer  advertisements.  Mr.  John  Armitage  in  various 
discreet  ways  was  observant  of  Monsieur  Chauvenet's 
activities,  and  bookings  at  steamship  offices  interested 
him  so  greatly  that  he  reserved  passage  on  two  addi 
tional  steamers  and  ordered  the  straps  buckled  about  his, 
trunks,  for  it  had  occurred  to  him  that  he  might  find  it 
necessary  to  leave  Geneva  in  a  hurry. 

It  was  not  likely  that  Monsieur  Chauvenet,  being  now 


JOHX   ARMITAGE   A   PRISONER          53 

under  his  eyes,  would  escape  him;  and  John  Armitage, 
making  a  leisurely  dinner,  learned  from  his  waiter  that 
Monsieur  Chauvenet,  being  worn  from  his  travels,  was 
dining  alone  in  his  rooms. 

At  about  eight  o'clock,  as  Armiiage  turned  the  pages 
of  Figaro  in  the  smoking-room,  Chauvenet  appeared  at 
the  door,  scrutinized  the  group  within,  and  passed  on. 
Armitage  had  carried  his  coat,  hat  and  stick  into  the 
smoking-room,  to  be  ready  for  possible  emergencies; 
and  when  Chauvenet  stepped  out  into  the  street  he  fol 
lowed. 

It  was  unusually  cold  for  the  season,  and  a  fine  drizzle 
filled  the  air.  Chauvenet  struck  off  at  once  away  from 
the  lake,  turned  into  the  Boulevard  Helvetique,  thence 
into  the  Boulevard  Froissart  with  its  colony  of  pensions. 
He  walked  rapidly  until  he  reached  a  house  that  was 
distinguished  from  its  immediate  neighbors  only  by  its 
unlighted  upper  windows.  He  pulled  the  bell  in  the  wall, 
and  the  door  was  at  once  opened  and  instantly  closed. 

Armitage,  following  at  twenty  yards  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  street,  paused  abruptly  at  the  sudden  ending 
of  his  chase.  It  was  not  an  hour  for  loitering,  for  the 
Genevan  gendarmerie  have  rather  good  eyes,  but  Armi 
tage  had  by  no  means  satisfied  his  curiosity  as  to  the  na- 


54  THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN" 

ture  of  Chauvenet's  errand.  He  walked  on  to  make  sure 
he  was  unobserved,  crossed  the  street,  and  again  passed 
the  dark,  silent  house  which  Chauvenet  had  entered. 
He  noted  the  place  carefully ;  it  gave  no  outward  appear 
ance  of  being  occupied.  He  assumed,  from  the  general 
plan  of  the  neighboring  buildings,  that  there  was  a 
courtyard  at  the  rear  of  the  darkened  house,  accessible 
through  a  narrow  passageway  at  the  side.  As  he  studied 
the  situation  he  kept  moving  to  avoid  observation,  and 
presently,  at  a  moment  when  he  was  quite  alone  in  the 
street,  walked  rapidly  to  the  house  Chauvenet  hkd  en 
tered. 

Gentlemen  in  search  of  adventures  do  well  to  avoid 
the  continental  wall.  Mr.  Armitage  brushed  the  glass 
from  the  top  with  his  hat.  It  jingled  softly  within 
under  cover  of  the  rain-drip.  The  plaster  had  crumbled 
from  the  bricks  in  spots,  giving  a  foot  its  opportunity, 
and  Mr.  Armitage  drew  himself  to  the  top  and  dropped 
within.  The  front  door  and  windows  stared  at  him 
blankly,  and  he  committed  his  fortunes  to  the  bricked 
passageway.  The  rain  was  now  coming  down  in  earnest, 
and  at  the  rear  of  the  house  water  had  begun  to  drip 
noisily  into  an  iron  spout.  The  electric  lights  from 
neighboring  streets  made  a  kind  of  twilight  even  in  the 


JOHN   AEMITAGB    A   PKISONER          '55 

darkened  court,  and  Armitage  threaded  his  way  among 
a  network  of  clothes-lines  to  the  rear  wall  and  viewed  the 
premises.  He  knew  his  Geneva  from  many  previous 
visits;  the  quarter  was  undeniably  respectable;  and 
there  is,  to  be  sure,  no  reason  why  the  blinds  of  a  house 
should  not  be  carefully  drawn  at  nightfall  at  the  pleas 
ure  of  the  occupants.  The  whole  lower  floor  seemed  ut 
terly  deserted ;  only  at  one  point  on  the  third  floor  was 
there  any  sign  of  light,  and  this  the  merest  hint. 

The  increasing  fall  of  rain  did  not  encourage  loi 
tering  in  the  wet  courtyard,  where  the  downspout  now 
rattled  dolorously,  and  Armitage  crossed  the  court  and 
further  assured  himself  that  the  lower  floor  was  dark  and 
silent.  Balconies  were  bracketed  against  the  wall  at  the 
second  and  third  stories,  and  the  slight  iron  ladder  lead 
ing  thither  terminated  a  foot  above  his  head.  John 
Armitage  was  fully  aware  that  his  position,  if  discov 
ered,  was,  to  say  the  least,  untenable ;  but  he  was  secure,- 
from  observation  by  police,  and  he  assumed  that  the' 
occupants  of  the  house  were  probabty  too  deeply  en 
grossed  with  their  affairs  to  waste  much  time  on  what 
might  happen  without.  Armitage  sprang  up  and  caught 
the  lowest  round  of  the  ladder,  and  in  a  moment  his  tall 
figure  was  a  dark  blur  against  the  wall  as  he  crept 


56  THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

warily  upward.  The  rear  rooms  of  the  second  story  were 
as  dark  and  quiet  as  those  below.  Arrnitage  continued 
to  the  third  story,  where  a  door,  as  well  as  several  win 
dows,  gave  upon  the  balcony;  and  he  found  that  it  was 
from  a  broken  corner  of  the  door  shade  that  a  sharp 
blade  of  light  cut  the  dark.  All  continued  quiet  below ; 
he  heard  the  traffic  of  the  neighboring  thoroughfares 
quite  distinctly;  and  from  a  kitchen  near  by  came  the 
rough  clatter  of  dishwashing  to  the  accompaniment  of  a 
quarrel  in  German  between  the  maids.  Eor  the  moment 
he  felt  secure,  and  bent  down  close  to  the  door  and  lis 
tened. 

Two  men  were  talking,  and  evidently  the  matter  un 
der  discussion  was  of  importance,  for  they  spoke  with 
a  kind  of  dogged  deliberation,  and  the  long  pauses  in  the 
dialogue  lent  color  to  the  belief  that  some  weighty  mat 
ter  was  in  debate.  The  beat  of  the  rain  on  the  balcony 
and  its  steady  rattle  in  the  spout  intervened  to  dull  the 
sound  of  voices,  but  presently  one  of  the  speakers,  with 
an  impatient  exclamation,  rose,  opened  the  small  glass- 
paned  door  a  few  inches,  peered  out,  and  returned  to  his 
seat  with  an  exclamation  of  relief.  Armitage  had 
dropped  down  the  ladder  half  a  dozen  rounds  as  he 
heard  the  latch  snap  in  the  door.  He  waited  an  instant 


JOHN   ARMITAGE   A   PRISONER          57 

to  make  sure  he  had  not  been  seen,  then  crept  back  to 
the  balcony  and  found  that  the  slight  opening  in  the 
door  made  it  possible  for  him  to  see  as  well  as  hear. 

"It's  stifling  in  this  hole/'  said  Chauvenet,  drawing 
deeply  upon  his  cigarette  and  blowing  a  cloud  of  smoke. 
"If  you  will  pardon  the  informality,  I  will  lay  aside  my 
coat." 

He  carefully  hung  the  garment  upon  the  back  of  his 
chair  to  hold  its  shape,  then  resumed  his  seat.  His 
companion  watched  him  meanwhile  with  a  certain  in* 
tentness. 

"You  take  excellent  care  of  your  clothes,  my  dear 
Jules.  I  never  have  been  able  to  fold  a  coat  without 
ruining  it." 

The  rain  was  soaking  Armitage  thoroughly,  but  its 
persistent  beat  covered  any  slight  noises  made  by  his 
own  movements,  and  he  was  now  intent  upon  the  little 
room  and  its  occupants.  He  observed  the  care  with 
which  the  man  kept  close  to  his  coat,  and  he  pondered 
the  matter  as  he  hung  upon  the  balcony.  If  Chauvenet 
was  on  his  way  to  America  it  was  possible  that  he  would 
carry  with  him  the  important  paper  whose  loss  had 
caused  so  much  anxiety  to  the  Austrian  minister;  if  so, 
where  was  it  during  his  stay  in  Geneva  ? 


58  THE   PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

"The  old  man's  death  is  only  the  first  step.  We  re 
quire  a  succession  of  deaths." 

"We  require  three,  to  be  explicit,  not  more  or  less. 
We  should  be  fortunate  if  the  remaining  two  could  be 
accomplished  as  easily  as  Stroebel's." 

"He  was  a  beast.  He  is  well  dead." 

"That  depends  on  the  way  you  look  at  it.  They  seem 
really  to  be  mourning  the  old  beggar  at  Vienna.  It  is 
the  way  of  a  people.  They  like  to  be  ruled  by  a  savage 
hand.  The  people,  as  you  have  heard  me  say  before,  are 
fools." 

The  last  speaker  was  a  young  man  whom  Armitage 
had  never  seen  before;  he  was  a  decided  blond,  with 
close-trimmed  straw-colored  beard  and  slightly-curling 
hair.  Opposite  him,  and  facing  the  door,  sat  Chauvenet. 
On  the  table  between  them  were  decanters  and  liqueur 
glasses. 

"I  am  going  to  America  at  once,"  said  Chauvenet, 
holding  his  filled  glass  toward  a  brass  lamp  of  an  old 
type  that  hung  from  the  ceiling. 

"It  is  probably  just  as  well,"  said  the  other.  "There's 
work  to  do  there.  We  must  not  forget  our  more  legiti 
mate  business  in  the  midst  of  these  pleasant  side  issues." 

"The  field  is  easy.    After  our  delightful  continental 


JOHN   AEMITAGE   A   PEISONER          59 

capitals,  where,  as  you  know,  one  is  never  quite  sure  of 
one's  self,  it  is  pleasant  to  breathe  the  democratic  airs 
of  Washington,"  remarked  Chauvenet. 

"Particularly  so,  my  dear  friend,  when  one  is  blessed 
with  your  delightful  social  gifts.  I  envy  you  your  ca 
pacity  for  making  others  happy." 

There  was  a  keen  irony  in  the  fellow's  tongue  and  the 
edge  of  it  evidently  touched  Chauvenet,  who  scowled 
and  bent  forward  with  his  fingers  on  the  table. 

"Enough  of  that,  if  you  please." 

"As  you  will,  carino;  but  you  will  pardon  me  for 
offering  my  condolences  on  the  regrettable  departure  of 
la  belle  Americaine.  If  you  had  not  been  so  intent  on 
matters  of  state  you  would  undoubtedly  have  found  her 
here.  As  it  is,  you  are  now  obliged  to  see  her  on  her  na 
tive  soil.  A  month,  in  Washington  may  do  much  for 
you.  She  is  beautiful  and  reasonably  rich.  Her  brother, 
the  tall  captain,  is  said  to  be  the  best  horseman  in  the 
American  army." 

"Humph !   He  is  an  ass,"  ejaculated  Chauvenet. 

A  servant  now  appeared  bearing  a  fresh  bottle  of 
cordial.  He  was  distinguished  by  a  small  head  upon  a 
tall  and  powerful  body,  and  bore  little  resemblance  to  a 
house  servant.  While  he  brushed  the  cigar  ashes  from 


60  THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

the  table  the  men  continued  their  talk  without  heeding 
him. 

Chauvenet  and  his  friend  had  spoken  from  the  first 
in  French,  but  in  addressing  some  directions  to  the 
servant,  the  blond,  who  assumed  the  role  of  host,  em 
ployed  a  Servian  dialect. 

"I  think  we  were  saying  that  the  mortality  list  in  cer 
tain  directions  will  have  to  be  stimulated  a  trifle  before 
we  can  do  our  young  friend  Francis  any  good.  You 
have  business  in  America,  carino.  That  paper  we  niched 
from  old  Stroebel  strengthens  our  hold  on  Francis ;  but 
there  is  still  that  question  as  to  Karl  and  Frederick 
Augustus.  Our  dear  Francis  is  not  satisfied.  He  wishes 
to  be  quite  sure  that  his  dear  father  and  brother  are 
dead.  We  must  reassure  him,  dearest  Jules." 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Durand.  You  never  seem  to  under 
stand  that  the  United  States  of  America  is  a  trifle 
larger  than  a  barnyard.  And  I  don't  believe  those  fel 
lows  are  over  there.  They're  probably  lying  in  wait 
here  somewhere,  ready  to  take  advantage  of  any  oppor 
tunity, — that  is,  if  they  are  alive.  A  man  can  hardly 
fail  to  be  impressed  with  the  fact  that  so  few  lives  stand 
between  him  and — "  ^ 

"The  heights — the  heights!"    And  the  young  man, 


JOHN   ARMITAGE   A   PRISONEK          61 

whom  Chauvenet  called  Durand,  lifted  his  tiny  glass 
airily. 
"Yes ;  the  heights,"  repeated  Chauvenet  a  little  dream- 

iiy- 

"But  that  declaration — that  document!  You  have 
never  honored  me  with  a  glimpse;  but  you  have  it  put 
safely  away,  I  dare  say." 

"There  is  no  place — but  one— that  I  dare  risk.  It  is 
always  within  easy  reach,  my  dear  friend." 

"You  will  do  well  to  destroy  that  document.  It  is 
better  out  of  the  way." 

"Your  deficiencies  in  the  matter  of  wisdom  are  unfor 
tunate.  That  paper  constitutes  our  chief  asset,  my  dear 
associate.  So  long  as  we  have  it  we  are  able  to  keep  dear 
Francis  in  order.  Therefore  we  shall  hold  fast  to  it,  re 
membering  that  we  risked  much  in  removing  it  from  the 
lamented  Stroebel's  archives." 

"Do  you  say  'risked  much'  ?  My  valued  neck,  that  is 
all !"  said  the  other.  "You  and  Winkelried  are  without 
gratitude." 

"You  will  do  well,"  said  Chauvenet,  "to  keep  an  eye 
open  in  Vienna  for  the  unknown.  If  you  hear  murmurs 
in  Hungary  one  of  these  fine  days — !  Nothing  has  hap 
pened  for  some  time ;  therefore  much  may  happen." 


62 

He  glanced  at  his  watch. 

"I  have  work  in  Paris  before  sailing  for  New  York. 
Shall  we  discuss  the  matter  of  those  Peruvian  claims? 
That  is  business.  These  other  affairs  are  more  in  the 
nature  of  delightful  diversions,  my  dear  comrade." 

They  drew  nearer  the  table  and  Durand  produced  a 
box  of  papers  over  which  he  bent  with  serious  attention. 
Armitage  had  heard  practically  all  of  their  dialogue, 
and,  what  was  of  equal  interest,  had  been  able  to  study 
the  faces  and  learn  the  tones  of  voice  of  the  two  con 
spirators.  He  was  cramped  from  his  position  on  the  nar 
row  balcony  and  wet  and  chilled  by  the  rain,  which  was 
now  slowly  abating.  He  had  learned  much  that  he 
wished  to  know,  and  with  an  ease  that  astonished  him ; 
and  he  was  well  content  to  withdraw  with  gratitude  for 
his'  good  fortune. 

His  legs  were  numb  and  he  clung  close  to  the  railing 
of  the  little  ladder  for  support  as  he  crept  toward  the 
area.  At  the  second  story  his  foot  slipped  on  the  wet 
iron,  smooth  from  long  use,  and  he  stumbled  down  sev 
eral  steps  before  he  recovered  himself.  He  listened  a 
moment,  heard  nothing  but  the  tinkle  of  the  rain  in  the 
spout,  then  continued  his  retreat. 

As  he  stepped  out  upon  the  brick  courtyard  he  was 


JOHN   ARMITAGE   A   PRISONER          63 

seized  from  behind  by  a  pair  of  strong  arms  that  clasped 
him  tight.  In  a  moment  he  was  thrown  across  the  thresh 
old  of  a  door  into  an  unlighted  room,  where  his  captor 
promptly  sat  upon  him  and  proceeded  to  strike  a  light. 


CHAPTER  V 

A  LOST   CIGAEETTE  CASE 

To  other  woods  the  trail  leads  on, 

To  other  worlds  and  new, 
Where  they  who  keep  the  secret  here 

Will  keep  the  promise  too. 

— Henry  A.  Beers. 

The  man  clenched  Armitage  about  the  body  with  his 
legs  while  he  struck  a  match  on  a  box  he  produced  from 
his  pocket.  The  suddenness  with  which  he  had  been 
flung  into  the  kitchen  had  knocked  the  breath  out  of 
Armitage,  and  the  huge  thighs  of  his  captor  pinned  his 
arms  tight.  The  match  spurted  fire  and  he  looked  into 
the  face  of  the  servant  whom  he  had  seen  in  the  room 

^above.  His  round  head  was  covered  with  short,  wire-like 

i- 

i'hair  that  grew  low  upon  his  narrow  forehead.  Armitage 

noted,  too,  the  man's  bull-like  neck,  small  sharp  eyes  and 
bristling  mustache.  The  fitful  flash  of  the  match  dis 
closed  the  rough  furniture  of  a  kitchen ;  the  brick  floor 
ing  and  his  wet  Inverness  lay  cold  at  Armitage's  back. 

64 


A   LOST    CIGAKETTE    CASE  65 

The  fellow  growled  an  execration  in  Servian;  then 
;with  ponderous  difficulty  asked  a  question  in  German. 

"Who  are  you  and  what  do  you  want  here  ?" 

Armitage  shook  his  head ;  and  replied  in  English : 

"I  do  not  understand." 

The  man  struck  a  series  of  matches  that  he  might 
scrutinize  his  captive's  face,  then  ran  his  hands  over 
Armitage's  pockets  to  make  sure  he  had  no  arms.  The 
big  fellow  was  clearly  puzzled  to  find  that  he  had  caught 
a  gentleman  in  water-soaked  evening  clothes  lurking  in 
the  area,  and  as  the  matter  was  beyond  his  wits  it  only 
remained  for  him  to  communicate  with  his  master. 
This,  however,  was  not  so  readily  accomplished.  He  had 
reasons  of  his  own  for  not  calling  out,  and  there  were 
difficulties  in  the  way  of  holding  the  prisoner  and  at  the 
same  time  bringing  down  the  men  who  had  gone  to  the 
most  distant  room  in  the  house  for  their  own  security. 

Several  minutes  passed  during  which  the  burly  Ser 
vian  struck  his  matches  and  took  account  of  his  priso 
ner;  and  meanwhile  Armitage  lay  perfectly  still,  his 
arms  fast  numbing  from  the  rough  clasp  of  the  stalwart 
servant's  legs.  There  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  a 
struggle  in  this  position,  and  he  knew  that  the  Servian 
would  not  risk  losing  him  in  the  effort  to  summon  the 


Go  THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

odd  pair  who  were  bent  over  their  papers  at  the  top  of 
the  house.  The  Servian  was  evidently  a  man  of  action. 

"Get  up/'  he  commanded,  still  in  rough  German,  and 
he  rose  in  the  dark  and  jerked  Armitage  after  him. 
There  was  a  moment  of  silence  in  which  Armitage  shook 
and  stretched  himself,  and  then  the  Servian  struck  an 
other  match  and  held  it  close  to  a  revolver  which  he 
held  pointed  at  Armitage's  head. 

"I  will  shoot,"  he  said  again  in  his  halting  German. 

"Undoubtedly  you  will!"  and  something  in  the  fel 
low's  manner  caused  Armitage  to  laugh.  He  had  been 
caught  and  he  did  not  at  once  see  any  safe  issue  out  of 
his  predicament;  but  his  plight  had  its  preposterous 
side  and  the  ease  with  which  he  had  been  taken  at  the 
very  outset  of  his  quest  touched  his  humor.  Then  he 
sobered  instantly  and  concentrated  his  wits  upon  the 
immediate  situation. 

The  Servian  backed  away  with  a  match  upheld  in  one 
hand  and  the  leveled  revolver  in  the  other,  leaving  Ar 
mitage  in  the  middle  of  the  kitchen. 

"I  am  going  to  light  a  lamp  and  if  you  move  I  will 
kill  you,"  admonished  the  fellow,  and  Armitage  heard 
his  feet  scraping  over  the  brick  floor  of  the  kitchen  as  he 
backed  toward  a  table  that  stood  against  the  wall  near 
the  outer  door. 


A   LOST    CIGAEETTE    CASE  67 

Armitage  stood  perfectly  still.  The  neighborhood  and 
the  house  itself  were  quiet;  the  two  men  in  the  third- 
story  room  were  probably  engrossed  with  the  business  at 
which  Armitage  had  left  them ;  and  his  immediate  affair 
was  with  the  Servian  alone.  The  fellow  continued  to 
mumble  his  threats ;  but  Armitage  had  resolved  to  play 
the  part  of  an  Englishman  who  understood  no  German, 
and  he  addressed  the  man  sharply  in  English  several 
times  to  signify  that  he,  did  not  understand. 

The  Servian  half  turned  toward  his  prisoner,  the  re 
volver  in  his  left  hand,  while  with  the  fingers  of  his 
right  he  felt  laboriously  for  a  lamp  that  had  been  re 
vealed  by  the  fitful  flashes  of  the  matches.  It  is  not  an 
easy  matter  to  light  a  lamp  when  you  have  only  one  hand 
to  work  with,  particularly  when  you  are  obliged  to  keep 
an  eye  on  a  mysterious  prisoner  of  whose  character  you 
are  ignorant;  and  it  was  several  minutes  before  the  job 
was  done. 

"You  will  go  to  that  corner ;"  and  the  Servian  trans 
lated  for  his  prisoner's  benefit  with  a  gesture  of  the  re 
volver. 

"Anything  to  please  you,  worthy  fellow,"  replied  Ar 
mitage,  and  he  obeyed  with  amiable  alacrity.  The  man's 
object  was  to  get  him  as  far  from  the  inner  door  as  pos- 


68  THE   PORT   OF   MISSING   MEN 

sible  while  he  called  help  from  above,  which  was,  of 
course,  the  wise  thing  from  his  point  of  view,  as  Armi- 
tage  recognized. 

Armitage  stood  with  his  back  against  a  rack  of  pots ; 
the  table  was  at  his  left  and  beyond  it  the  door  opening 
upon  the  court ;  a.  barred  window  was  at  his  right ;  op 
posite  him  was  another  door  that  communicated  with  the 
interior  of  the  house  and  disclosed  the  lower  steps  of  a 
rude  stairway  leading  upward.  The  Servian  now  closed 
and  locked  the  outer  kitchen  door  with  care. 

Armitage  had  lost  his  hat  in  the  area ;  his  light  walk 
ing-stick  lay  in  the  middle  of  the  floor;  his  Inverness 
coat  hung  wet  and  bedraggled  about  him ;  his  shirt  was 
crumpled  and  soiled.  But  his  air  of  good  humor  and  his 
tame  acceptance  of  capture  seemed  to  increase  the  Ser 
vian's  caution,  and  he  backed  away  toward  the  inner 
door  with  his  revolver  still  pointed  at  Armitage's  head. 

He  began  calling  lustily  up  the  narrow  stair-well  in 
Servian,  changing  in  a  moment  to  German.  He  made 
a  ludicrous  figure,  as  he  held  his  revolver  at  arm's 
length,  craning  his  neck  into  the  passage,  and  howling 
until  he  was  red  in  the  face.  He  paused  to  listen,  then 
renewed  his  cries,  while  Armitage,  with  his  back  against 
the  rack  of  pots,  studied  the  room  and  made  his  plans. 


Armitage  stcod  with  his  back  against  a  rack  of  pots     Page  68 


A   LOST    CIGAEETTE    CASE  69 

is  a  thief  here !  I  have  caught  a  thief !"  yelled 
the  Servian,  now  exasperated  by  the  silence  above.  Then, 
as  he  relaxed  a  moment  and  turned  to  make  sure  that 
his  revolver  still  covered  Armitage,  there  was  a  sudden 
sound  of  steps  above  and  a  voice  bawled  angrily  down 
the  stairway: 

"Zmai,  stop  your  noise  and  tell  me  what's  the  trouble/' 

It  was  the  voice  of  Durand  speaking  in  the  Servian 
dialect ;  and  Zmai  opened  his  mouth  to  explain. 

As  the  big  fellow  roared  his  reply  Armitage  snatched 
from  the  rack  a  heavy  iron  boiling-pot,  swung  it  high  by 
the  bail  with  both  hands  and  let  it  fly  with  all  his  might 
at  the  Servian's  head,  upturned  in  the  earnestness  of  his 
bawling.  On  the  instant  the  revolver  roared  loudly  :.u 
the  narrow  kitchen  and  Armitage  seized  the  brass  lamp 
and  flung  it  from  him  upon  the  hearth,  where  it  fell  with 
a  great  clatter  without  exploding. 

It  was  instantly  pitch  dark.  The  Servian  had  gone 
down  like  a  felled  ox  and  Armitage  at  the  threshold 
leaped  over  him  into  the  hall  past  the  rear  stairs  down 
which  the  men  were  stumbling,  cursing  volubly  as  they 
came. 

Arraitage  had  assumed  the  existence  of  a  front  stair 
way,  and  now  that  he  was  launched  upon  an  unexpected 


70  THE   PORT   OF   MISSING   MEN 

adventure,  he  was  in  a  humor  to  prolong  it  for  a 
moment,  even  at  further  risk.  He  crept  along  a  dark 
passage  to  the  front  door,  found  and  turned  the  key 
to  provide  himself  with  a  ready  exit,  then,  as  he  heard 
the  men  from  above  stumble  over  the  prostrate  Servian, 
he  bounded  up  the  front  stairway,  gained  the  second 
floor,  then  the  third,  and  readily  found  by  its  light  the 
room  that  he  had  observed  earlier  from  the  outside. 

Below  there  was  smothered  confusion  and  the  crack 
ling  of  matches  as  Durand  and  Chauvenet  sought  to 
grasp  the  unexpected  situation  that  confronted  them. 
The  big  servant,  Armitage  knew,  would  hardly  be  able 
to  clear  matters  for  them  at  once,  and  he  hurriedly 
turned  over  the  packets  of  papers  that  lay  on  the  table. 
They  were  claims  of  one  kind  and  another  against  sev 
eral  South  and  Central  American  republics,  chiefly  for 
naval  and  military  supplies,  and  he  merely  noted  their 
general  character.  They  were,  on  the  face  of  it,  certified 
accounts  in  the  usual  manner  of  business.  On  the  back 
of  each  had  been  printed  with  a  rubber  stamp  the  words : 

Vienna,  Paris,  Washington. 
Chauvenet  et  Durand. 

Armitage  snatched  up  the  coat  which  Chauvenet  had 


A   LOST    CIGAKETTE    CASE  71 

so  carefully  placed  on  the  back  of  his  chair,  ran  his 
hands  through  the  pockets,  found  them  empty,  then 
gathered  the  garment  tightly  in  his  hands,  laughed  a 
little  to  himself  to  feel  papers  sewn  into  the  lining,  and 
laughed  again  as  he  tore  the  lining  loose  and  drew  forth 
a  flat  linen  envelope  brilliant  with  three  seals  of  red  wax. 

Steps  sounded  below ;  a  man  was  running  up  the  back 
stairs;  and  from  the  kitchen  rose  sounds  of  mighty 
groanings  and  cursings  in  the  heavy  gutturals  of  the 
Servian,  as  he  regained  his  wits  and  sought  to  explain 
his  plight. 

Armitage  picked  up  a  chair,  ran  noiselessly  to  the  head 
of  the  back  stairs,  and  looked  down  upon  Chauvenet, 
who  was  hurrying  up  with  a  flaming  candle  held  high 
above  his  head,  its  light  showing  anxiety  and  fear  upon 
his  face.  He  was  half-way  up  the  last  flight,  and  Armi 
tage  stood  in  the  dark,  watching  him  with  a  mixture  of 
curiosity  and  something,  too,  of"  humor.  Then  he  spoke 
— in  French — in  a  tone  that  imitated  the  cool  irony  he 
had  noted  in  Durand's  tone : 

"A  few  murders  more  or  less !  But  Von  Stroebel  was 
hardly  a  fair  mark,  dearest  Jules !" 

With  this  he  sent  the  chair  clattering  down  the  steps, 
where  it  struck  Jules  Chauvenet's  legs  with  a  force  that 


72  THE   POET    OF.   MISSING   MEN 

carried  him  howling  lustily  backward  to  the  second 
landing. 

Armitage  turned  and  sped  down  the  front  stairway, 
hearing  renewed  clamor  from  the  rear  and  cries  of  rage 
and  pain  from  the  second  story.  In  fumbling  for  the 
front  door  he  found  a  hat,  and,  having  lost  his  own, 
placed  it  upon  his  head,  drew  his  Inverness  about  his 
shoulders,  and  went  quickly  out.  A  moment  later  he 
slipped  the  catch  in  the  wall  door  an  jtepped  into  the 
boulevard. 

The  stars  were  shining  among  the  flying  clouds  over 
head  and  he  drew  deep  breaths  of  the  freshened  air  into 
his  lungs  as  he  walked  back  to  the  Monte  Eosa.  Occa 
sionally  he  laughed  quietly  to  himself,  for  he  still 
grasped  tightly  in  his  hand,  safe  under  his  coat,  the 
envelope  which  Chauvenet  had  carried  so  carefully  con 
cealed  ;  and  several  times  Armitage  muttered  to  himself : 

"A  few  murders,  more  or  less  !" 

At  the  hotel  he  changed  his  clothes,  threw  the  things 
from  his  dressing-table  into  a  bag,  and  announced  his  de 
parture  for  Paris  by  the  night  express. 

As  he  drove  to  the  railway  station  he  felt  for  his  cigar 
ette  case,  and  discovered  that  it  was  missing.  The  loss 
evidently  gave  him  great  concern,  for  he  searched  and 


A   LOST    CIGAEETTE    CASE  73 

researched  his  pockets  and  opened  his  bags  at  the  station 
to  see  if  he  had  by  any  chance  overlooked  it,  but  it  was 
not  to  be  found. 

His  annoyance  at  the  loss  was  balanced — could  he 
have  known  it — by  the  interest  with  which,  almost  be 
fore  the  wall  door  had  closed  upon  him,  two  gentlemen 
—one  of  them  still  in  his  shirt  sleeves  and  with  a  purple 
lump  over  his  forehead — bent  over  a  gold  cigarette  case 
in  the  dark  house  on  the  Boulevard  Froissart.  It  was  a 
pretty  trinket,  and  contained,  when  found  on  the  kitchen 
floor,  exactly  four  cigarettes  of  excellent  Turkish  to 
bacco.  On  one  side  of  it  was  etched,  in  shadings  of  blue 
and  white  enamel,  a  helmet,  surmounted  by  a  falcon, 
poised  for  flight,  and,  beneath,  the  motto  Fide  non  armis. 
The  back  bore  in  English  script,  written  large,  the  let 
ters  F.  A. 

The  men  stared  at  each  other  wonderingly  for  an  in 
stant,  then  both  leaped  to  their  feet. 

"It  isn't  possible !"  gasped  Durand. 

"It  is  quite  possible,"  replied  Chauvenet.  "The  em 
blem  is  unmistakable.  Good  God,  look !" 

The  sweat  had  broken  out  on  Chauvenet's  face  and  he 
leaped  to  the  chair  where  his  coat  hung,  and  caught  up 
the  garment  with  shaking  hands.  The  silk  lining  flut- 


74          THE   POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

tered  loose  where  Armitage  had  roughly  torn  out  the 
envelope. 

"Who  is  he?  Who  is  he?"  whispered  Durand,  very 
white  of  face. 

"It  may  be — it  must  be  some  one  deeply  concerned." 

Chauvenet  paused,  drawing  his  hand  across  his  fore 
head  slowly;  then  the  color  leaped  back  into  his  face, 
and  he  caught  Durand's  arm  so  tight  that  the  man 
flinched. 

"There  has  been  a  man  following  me  about ;  I  thought 
he  was  interested  in  the  Claibornes.  He's  here — I  saw 
him  at  the  Monte  Kosa  to-night.  God !" 

He  dropped  his  hand  from  Durand's  arm  and  struck 
the  table  fiercely  with  his  clenched  hand. 

"John  Armitage — John  Armitage !  I  heard  his  name 
in  Florence." 

His  eyes  were  snapping  with  excitement,  and  amaze 
ment  grew  in  his  face. 

"Who  is  John  Armitage  ?"  demanded  Durand  sharply ; 
but  Chauvenet  stared  at  him  in  stupefaction  for  a  tense 
moment,  then  muttered  to  himself : 

"Is  it  possible?  Is  it  possible?"  and  his  voice  was 
hoarse  and  his  hand  trembled  as  he  picked  up  the  cigar 
ette  case. 


A   LOST    C1GAEETTE    CASE  75- 

frMy  dear  Jules,  you  act  as  though  you  had  seen  a 
ghost.  Who  the  devil  is  Armitage  ?" 

Chauvenet  glanced  about  the  room  cautiously,  then 
bent  forward  and  whispered  very  low,  close  to  Durand's 
ear: 

"Suppose  he  were  the  son  of  the  crazy  Karl !  Suppose 
he  were  Frederick  Augustus !" 

"Bah !  It  is  impossible  !  What  is  your  man  Armitage 
like?"  asked  Durand  irritably. 

"He  is  the  right  age.  He  is  a  big  fellow  and  ha.s  quite 
an  air.  He  seems  to  be  without  occupation." 

"Clearly  so,"  remarked  Durand  ironically.  "But  he 
has  evidently  been  watching  us.  Quite  possibly  the  la 
mented  Stroebel  employed  him.  He  may  have  seen 
Stroebel  here — " 

Chauvenet  again  struck  the  table  smartly. 

"Of  course  he  would  see  Stroebel!  Stroebel  was  the 
Archduke's  friend;  Stroebel  and  this  fellow  between 
them—" 

"Stroebel  is  dead.  The  Archduke  is  dead;  there  can 
be  no  manner  of  doubt  of  that,"  said  Durand ;  but  doubt 
was  in  his  tone  and  in  his  eyes. 

"Nothing  is  certain ;  it  would  be  like  Karl  to  turn  up 
again  with  a  son  to  back  his  claims.  They  may  both  be 


76  THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

living.  This  Armitage  is  not  the  ordinary  pig  of  a  secret 
agent.  We  must  find  him." 

"And  quickly.   There  must  be — " 

" — another  death  added  to  our  little  list  before  we  are 
quite  masters  of  the  situation  in  Vienna." 

They  gave  Zmai  orders  to  remain  on  guard  at  the 
house  and  went  hurriedly  out  together. 


CHAPTER  VI 

TOWARD  THE  WESTERN   STARS 

Her  blue  eyes  sought  the  west  afar, 
For  lovers  love  the  western  star. 

— Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel. 

Geneva  is  a  good  point  from  which  to  plan  flight  to 
any  part  of  the  world,  for  there  at  the  top  of  Europe 
the  whole  continental  railway  system  is  easily  within 
your  grasp,  and  you  may  make  your  choice  of  sailing 
ports.  It  is,  to  be  sure,  rather  out  of  your  way  to  seek  a 
ship  at  Liverpool  unless  you  expect  to  gain  some  par 
ticular  advantage  in  doing  so.  Mr.  John  Arrnitage  hur 
ried  thither  in  the  most  breathless  haste  to  catch  the 
King  Edward,  whereas  he  might  have  taken  the  Tour 
raine  at  Cherbourg  and  saved  himself  a  mad  scamper; 
but  his  satisfaction  in  finding  himself  aboard  the  King 
Edward  was  supreme.  He  was  and  is,  it  may  be  said,  a 
man  who  salutes  the  passing  days  right  amiably,  no  mat 
ter  how  somber  their  colors. 

Shirley  Claiborne  and  Captain  Kichard  Claiborne,  her 
77 


78  THE   POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

brother,  were  on  deck  watching  the  shipping  in  the 
Mersey  as  the  big  steamer  swung  into  the  channel. 

"I  hope,"  observed  Dick,  "that  we  have  shaken  off  all 
your  transatlantic  suitors.  That  little  Chauvenet  died 
easier  than  I  had  expected.  He  never  turned  up  after 
we  left  Florence,  but  I'm  not  wholly  sure  that  we  shan't 
find  him  at  the  dock  in  New  York.  And  that  mysterious 
Armitage,  who  spent  so  much  railway  fare  following  us 
about,  and  who  almost  bought  you  a  watch  in  Geneva, 
really  disappoints  me.  His  persistence  had  actually  com 
pelled  my  admiration.  For  a  glass-blower  he  was  fairly 
decent,  though,  and  better  than  a  lot  of  these  little  toy 
men  with  imitation  titles." 

"Is  that  an  American  cruiser?  I  really  believe  it  is 
the  Tecumseh.  What  on  earth  were  you  talking  about, 
Dick?" 

Shirley  fluttered  her  handkerchief  in  the  direction  of 
the  American  flag  displayed  by  the  cruiser,  and  Dick 
lifted  his  cap. 

"I  was  bidding  farewell  to  your  foreign  suitors,  Shir 
ley,  and  congratulating  myself  that  as  soon  as  pere  et 
mere  get  their  sea  legs  they  will  resume  charge  of  you, 
and  let  me  look  up  two  or  three  very  presentable  speci 
mens  of  your  sex  I  saw  come  on  board.  Your  affairs 


79 

have  annoyed  me  greatly  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  be  free 
of  the  responsibility." 

"Thank  you,  Captain." 

"And  if  there  are  any  titled  blackguards  on  board — " 

"You  will  do  dreadfully  wicked  things  to  them,  won't 
you,  little  brother?" 

"Humph !   Thank  God,  I'm  an  American !" 

"That's  a  worthy  sentiment,  Eichard." 

"I'd  like  to  give  out,  as  our  newspapers  say,  a  signed 
statement  throwing  a  challenge  to  all  Europe.  I  wish 
we'd  get  into  a  real  war  once  so  we  could  knock  the  con 
ceit  out  of  one  of  their  so-called  first-class  powers.  I'd 
like  to  lead  a  regiment  right  through  the  most  sacred 
precincts  of  London;  or  take  an  early  morning  gallop 
through  Berlin  to  wake  up  the  Dutch.  All  this  talk 
about  hands  across  the  sea  and  such  rot  makes  me  sick. 
The  English  are  the  most  benighted  and  the  most  con 
ceited  and  condescending  race  on  earth;  the  Germans 
and  Austrians  are  stale  beer-vats,  and  the  Italians  and 
French  are  mere  decadents  and  don't  count." 

"Yes,  dearest,"  mocked  Shirley.  "Oh,  my  large 
brother,  I  have  a  confession  to  make.  Please  don't  in 
dulge  in  great  oaths  or  stamp  a  hole  in  this  sturdy  deck, 
but  there  are  flowers  in  my  state-room — " 


80  THE   POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

"Probably  from  the  Liverpool  consul — he's  been  pes 
tering  father  to  help  him  get  a  transfer  to  a  less  gloomy 
hole." 

"Then  I  shall  intercede  myself  with  the  President 
when  I  get  home.  They're  orchids — from  London — but 
— with  Mr.  Armitage's  card.  Wouldn't  that  excite 
you?" 

"It  makes  me  sick !"  and  Dick  hung  heavily  on  the 
rail  and  glared  at  a  passing  tug. 

"They  are  beautiful  orchids.  I  don't  remember  when 
orchids  have  happened  to  me  before,  Eichard — in  such 
quantities.  Now,  you  really  didn't  disapprove  of  him  so 
much,  did  you?  This  is  probably  good-by  forever,  but 
he  wasn't  so  bad ;  and  he  may  be  an  American,  after  all." 

"A  common  adventurer !  Such  fellows  are  always 
turning  up,  like  bad  pennies,  or  a  one-eyed  dog.  If  I 
should  see  him  again — " 

"Yes,  Eichard,  if  you  should  meet  again — " 

"I'd  ask  him  to  be  good  enough  to  stop  following  us 
about,  and  if  he  persisted  I  should  muss  him  up." 

"Yes ;  I'm  sure  you  would  protect  me  from  his  impor 
tunities  at  any  hazard,"  mocked  Shirley,  turning  and 
leaning  against  the  rail  so  that  she  looked  along  the  deck 
beyond  her  brother's  stalwart  shoulders. 


TOWARD   THE    WESTERN    STARS         81 

"Don't  be  silly,"  observed  Dick,  whose  eyes  were  upon 
a  trim  yacht  that  was  steaming  slowly  beneath  them. 

"I  shan't,  but  please  don't  be  violent !  Do  not  murder 
the  poor  man,  Dickie,  dear," — and  she  took  hold  of  his 
arm  entreatingly — "for  there  he  is — as  tall  and  mys 
terious  as  ever — and  me  found  guilty  with  a  few  of  his 
orchids  pinned  to  my  jacket !" 

"This  is  good  fortune,  indeed,"  said  Armitage  a  mo 
ment  later  when  they  had  shaken  hands.  "I  finished  my 
errand  at  Geneva  unexpectedly  and  here  I  am." 

He  smiled  at  the  feebleness  of  his  explanation,  and 
joined  in  their  passing  comment  on  the  life  of  the  har 
bor.  He  was  not  so  dull  but  that  he  felt  Dick  Claiborne's 
resentment  of  his  presence  on  board.  He  knew  perfectly 
well  that  his  acquaintance  with  the  Claibornes  was  too 
slight  to  be  severely  strained,  particularly  where  a  fel 
low  of  Dick  Claiborne's  high  spirit  was  concerned.  He 
talked  with  them  a  few  minutes  longer,  then  took  him* 
self  off ;  and  they  saw  little  of  him  the  rest  of  the  day. 

Armitage  did  not  share  their  distinction  of  a  seat  at 
the  captain's  table.,  and  Dick  found  him  late  at  night  in 
the  smoking-saloon  with  pipe  and  book.  Armitage  nod 
ded  and  asked  him  to  sit  down. 

"You  are  a  sailor  as  well  as  a  soldier,  Captain.   You 


82  THE   PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

are  fortunate;  I  always  sit  up  the  first  night  to  make 
sure  the  enemy  doesn't  lay  hold  of  me  in  my  sleep." 

He  tossed  his  book  aside,  had  brandy  and  soda  brought 
and  offered  Claiborne  a  cigar. 

"This  is  not  the  most  fortunate  season  for  crossing; 
I  am  sure  to  fall  to-morrow.  My  father  and  mother  hate 
the  sea  particularly  and  have  retired  for  three  days.  My 
sister  is  the  only  one  of  us  who  is  perfectly  immune." 

"Yes;  I  can  well  image  Miss  Claiborne  in  the  good 
graces  of  the  elements/'  replied  Armitage;  and  they 
were  silent  for  several  minutes  while  a  big  Russian,  who 
•was  talking  politics  in  a  distant  corner  with  a  very  small 
and  solemn  German,  boomed  out  his  views  on  the  East 
ern  question  in  a  tremendous  bass. 

Dick  Claiborne  was  a  good  deal  amused  at  finding 
himself  sitting  beside  Armitage, — enjoying,  indeed,  his 
fellow  traveler's  hospitality ;  but  Armitage,  he  was  forced 
to  admit,  bore  all  the  marks  of  a  gentleman.  He  had,  to 
be  sure,  followed  Shirley  about,  but  even  the  young 
man's  manner  in  this  was  hardly  a  matter  at  which  he 
could  cavil.  And  there  was  something  altogether  likable 
in  Armitage ;  his  very  composure  was  attractive  to  Clai 
borne;  and  the  bold  lines  of  his  figure  were  not  wasted 
on  the  young  officer.  In  the  silence,  while  they  smoked, 


TOWAED   THE    WESTEEN   STAES         83 

he  noted  the  perfect  taste  that  marked  Armitage's  be 
longings,  which  to  him  meant  more,  perhaps,  than  the 
steadiness  of  the  man's  eyes  or  the  fine  lines  of  his  face. 
Unconsciously  Claiborne  found  himself  watching  Ar 
mitage's  strong  ringless  hands,  and  he  knew  that  such  a 
hand,  well  kept  though  it  appeared,  had  known  hard 
work,  and  that  the  long  supple  fingers  were  such  as 
might  guide  a  tiller  fearlessly  or  set  a  flag  daringly  upon 
a  fire-swept  parapet. 

Armitage  was  thinking  rapidly  of  something  he  had 
suddenly  resolved  to  say  to  Captain  Claiborne.  He  knew 
that  the  Claibornes  were  a  family  of  distinction;  the 
father  was  an  American  diplomat  and  lawyer  of  wide 
reputation ;  the  family  stood  for  the  best  of  which  Amer 
ica  is  capable,  and  they  were  homeward  bound  to  the 
American  capital  where  their  social  position  and  the 
father's  fame  made  them  conspicuous. 

Armitage  put  down  his  cigar  and  bent  toward  Clai 
borne,  speaking  with  quiet  directness. 

"Captain  Claiborne,  I  was  introduced  to  you  at  Ge 
neva  by  Mr.  Singleton.  You  may  have  observed  me  sev 
eral  times  previously  at  Venice,  Eome,  Florence,  Paris, 
Berlin.  I  certainly  saw  you !  I  shall  not  deny  that  I  in 
tentionally  followed  you,  nor" — John  Armitage  smiled, 


84          THE   PORT   OF  MISSING   MEN 

then  grew  grave  again — "can  I  make  any  adequate  apol 
ogy  for  doing  so.'"' 

Claiborne  looked  at  Armitage  wonderingly.  The 
man's  attitude  and  tone  were  wholly  serious  and  com 
pelled  respect.  Claiborne  nodded  and  threw  away  his 
cigar  that  he  might  give  his  whole  attention  to  what  Ar 
mitage  might  have  to  say. 

"A  man  does  not  like  to  have  his  sister  forming  the 
acquaintances  of  persons  who  are  not  properly  vouched 
for.  Except  for  Singleton  you  know  nothing  of  me ;  and 
Singleton  knows  very  little  of  me,  indeed." 

Claiborne  nodded.  He  felt  the  color  creeping  into  his 
cheeks  consciously  as  Armitage  touched  upon  this  mat 
ter. 

"I  speak  to  you  as  I  do  because  it  is  your  right  to 
know  who  and  what  I  am,  for  I  am  not  on  the  King  Ed 
ward  by  accident  but  by  intention,  and  I  am  going  to 
Washington  because  your  sister  lives  there." 

Claiborne  smiled  in  spite  of  himself. 

"But,  my  dear  sir,  this  is  most  extraordinary !  I  don't 
know  that  I  care  to  hear  any  more ;  by  listening  I  seem 
to  be  encouraging  you  to  follow  us — it's  altogether  too 
unusual.  It's  almost  preposterous !" 

And  Dick  Claiborne  frowned  severely;  but  Armitage 
still  met  his  eyes  gravely. 


TOWARD   THE   WESTERN    STARS        85 

"It's  only  decent  for  a  man  to  give  his  references 
when  it's  natural  for  them  to  be  required.  I  was  edu 
cated  at  Trinity  College,  Toronto.  I  spent  a  year  at  the 
Harvard  Law  School.  And  I  am  not  a  beggar  utterly.  I 
own  a  ranch  in  Montana  that  actually  pays  and  a  thou 
sand  acres  of  the  best  wheat  land  in  Nebraska.  At  the 
Bronx  Loan  and  Trust  Company  in  New  York  I  have 
securities  to  a  considerable  amount, — I  am  perfectly 
willing  that  any  one  who  is  at  all  interested  should  in 
quire  of  the  Trust  Company  officers  as  to  my  standing 
with  them.  If  I  were  asked  to  state  my  occupation  I 
should  have  to  say  that  I  am  a  cattle  herder — what  you 
call  a  cowboy.  I  can  make  my  living  in  the  practice  of 
the  business  almost  anywhere  from  New  Mexico  north 
to  the  Canadian  line.  I  flatter  myself  that  I  am  pretty 
good  at  it,"  and  John  Armitage  smiled  and  took  a  cigar 
ette  from  a  box  on  the  table  and  lighted  it. 

Dick  Claiborne  was  greatly  interested  in  what  Ar 
mitage  had  said,  and  he  struggled  between  an  inclination 
to  encourage  further  confidence  and  a  feeling  that  he 
should,  for  Shirley's  sake,  make  it  clear  to  this  young 
stranger  that  it  was  of  no  consequence  to  any  member 
of  the  Claiborne  family  who  he  was  or  what  might  be 
the  extent  of  his  lands  or  the  unimpeachable  character 


86  THE    POET    OF    MISSING    MEN 

of  his  investments.  But  it  was  not  so  easy  to  turn  asido 
a  fellow  who  was  so  big  of  frame  and  apparently  so  sane 
and  so  steady  of  purpose  as  this  Armitage.  And  there 
was,  too,  the  further  consideration  that  while  Armitage 
was  volunteering  gratuitous  information,  and  assuming 
an  interest  in  his  affairs  by  the  Claibornes  that  was 
wholly  unjustified,  there  was  also  the  other  side  of  the 
matter:  that  his  explanations  proceeded  from  motives 
of  delicacy  that  were  praiseworthy.  Dick  was  puzzled, 
and  piqued  besides,  to  find  that  his  resources  as  a 
big  protecting  brother  were  so  soon  exhausted.  What 
Armitage  was  asking  was  the  right  to  seek  his  sister 
Shirley's  hand  in  marriage,  and  the  thing  was  absurd. 
Moreover,  who  was  John  Armitage  ? 

The  question  startled  Claiborne  into  a  realization  of 
the  fact  that  Armitage  had  volunteered  considerable  in 
formation  without  at  all  answering  this  question.  Dick 
Claiborne  was  a  human  being,  and  curious. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  asked,  "but  are  you  an  English 
man?" 

"I  am  not,"  answered  Armitage.  "I  have  been  so  long 
in  America  that  I  feel  as  much  at  home  there  as  any 
where — but  I  am  neither  English  nor  American  by 
birth ;  I  am,  on  the  other  hand — " 


TOWAED   THE    WESTERN    STABS         87 

He  hesitated  for  the  barest  second,  and  Claiborne  was 
sensible  of  an  intensification  of  interest;  now  at  last 
there  was  to  be  a  revelation  that  amounted  to  something. 

"On  the  other  hand/'  Armitage  repeated,  "I  was  born 
at  Fontainebleau,  where  my  parents  lived  for  only  a  few 
months ;  but  I  do  not  consider  that  that  fact  makes  me  a 
Frenchman.  My  mother  is  dead.  My  father  died — very 
recently.  I  have  been  in  America  enough  to  know  that  a 
foreigner  is  often  under  suspicion — particularly  if  he 
have  a  title!  My  distinction  is  that  I  am  a  foreigner 
without  one !"  John  Armitage  laughed. 

"It  is,  indeed,  a  real  merit,"  declared  Dick,  who  felt 
that  something  was  expected  of  him.  In  spite  of  him 
self,  he  found  much  to  like  in  John  Armitage.  He  par 
ticularly  despised  sham  and  pretense,  and  he  had  been 
won  by  the  evident  sincerity  of  Armitage's  wish  to  ap 
pear  well  in  his  eyes. 

"And  now,"  said  Armitage,  "I  assure  you  that  I  am 
not  in  the  habit  of  talking  so  much  about  myself — and  if 
you  will  overlook  this  offense  I  promise  not  to  bore  you 
again." 

"I  have  been  interested,"  remarked  Dick;  "and,"  he 
added,  "I  can  not  do  less  than  thank  you,  Mr.  Armi 
tage." 


88  THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN" 

Armitage  began  talking  of  the  American  army — its 
strength  and  weaknesses — with  an  intimate  knowledge 
that  greatly  surprised  and  interested  the  young  officer; 
and  when  they  separated  presently  it  was  with  a  curious 
mixture  of  liking  and  mystification  that  Claiborne  re 
viewed  their  talk. 

The  next  day  brought  heavy  weather,  and  only  hard 
ened  sea-goers  were  abroad.  Armitage,  breakfasting  late, 
was  not  satisfied  that  he  had  acted  wisely  in  speaking  to 
Captain  Claiborne;  but  he  had,  at  any  rate,  eased  in 
some  degree  his  own  conscience,  and  he  had  every  inten 
tion  of  seeing  all  that  he  could  of  Shirley  Claiborne  dur 
ing  these  days  of  their  fellow-voyaging. 


CHAPTER  VII 

OX  THE  DARK  DECK 

Ease,  of  all  good  gifts  the  best, 
War  and  wave  at  last  decree: 

Love  alone  denies  us  rest, 
Crueier  tuan  sword  or  sea. 

William  Watson. 

"I  am  Columbus  every  time  I  cross,"  said  Shirley. 
"What  lies  out  there  in  the  west  is  an  undiscovered  coun- 

try-" 

"Then  I  shall  have  to  take  the  part  of  the  rebellious 
and  doubting  crew.  There  is  no  America,  and  we're  sure 
to  get  into  trouble  if  we  don't  turn  back." 

"You  shall  be  clapped  into  irons  and  fed  on  bread  and 
water,  and  turned  over  to  the  Indians  as  soon  as  we 
reach  land." 

"Don't  starve  me !  Let  me  hang  from  the  yard-arm  at 
once,  or  walk  the  plank.  I  choose  the  hour  immediately 
after  dinner  for  my  obsequies !" 

"Choose  a  cheerfuller  word !"  pleaded  Shirley. 

"I  am  sorry  to  suggest  mortality,  but  I  was  trying  to 
89 


90  THE   POET   OF   MISSING   MEN 

let  my  imagination  play  a  little  on  the  eternal  novelty 
of  travel,  and  you  have  dropped  me  down  'full  faddoni 
five/  " 

"I'm  sorry,  but  I  have  only  revealed  an  honest  tend 
ency  of  character.  Piracy  is  probably  a  more  profitable 
line  of  business  than  discovery.  Discoverers  benefit  man 
kind  at  great  sacrifice  and  expense,  and  die  before  they 
can  receive  the  royal  thanks.  A  pirate's  business  is  all 
done  over  the  counter  on  a  strictly  cash  basis." 

They  were  silent  for  a  moment,  continuing  their 
tramp.  Fair  weather  was  peopling  the  decks.  Dick  Clai- 
borne  was  engrossed  with  a  vivacious  California  girl, 
and  Shirley  saw  him  only  at  meals ;  but  he  and  Armitage 
held  night  sessions  in  the  smoking-room,  with  increased 
liking  on  both  sides. 

"Armitage  isn't  a  bad  sort,"  Dick  admitted  to  Shirley. 
"He's  either  an  awful  liar,  or  he's  seen  a  lot  of  the 
world." 

"Of  course,  he  has  to  travel  to  sell  his  glassware," 
observed  Shirley.  "I'm  surprised  at  your  seeming  inti 
macy  with  a  mere  'peddler,' — and  you  an  officer  in  the 
finest  cavalry  in  the  world." 

"Well,  if  he's  a  peddler  he's  a  high-class  one — prob 
ably  the  junior  member  of  the  firm  that  owns  the  works." 


91 

Armitage  saw  something  of  all  the  Claibornes  every 
day  in  the  pleasant  intimacy  of  ship  life,  and  Hilton 
Claiborne  found  the  young  man  an  interesting  talker. 
Judge  Claiborne  is,  as  every  one  knows,  the  best-posted 
American  of  his  time  in  diplomatic  history;  and  when 
they  were  together  Armitage  suggested  topics  that  were 
well  calculated  to  awaken  the  old  lawyer's  interest. 

"The  glass-blower's  a  deep  one,  all  right,"  remarked 
Dick  to  Shirley.  "He  jollies  me  occasionally,  just  to 
show  there's  no  hard  feeling;  then  he  jollies  the  gov 
ernor  ;  and  when  I  saw  our  mother  footing  it  on  his  arm 
this  afternoon  I  almost  fell  in  a  faint.  I  wish  you'd 
hold  on  to  him  tight  till  we're  docked.  My  little  friend 
from  California  is  crazy  about  him — and  I  haven't  dared 
tell  her  he's  only  a  drummer ;  such  a  fling  would  be  un- 
chivalrous  of  me — " 

"It  would,  Eichard. .  Be  a  generous  foe — whether — 
whether  you  can  afford  to  be  or  not !" 

"My  sister — my  own  sister  says  this  to  me!  This  is 
quite  the  unkindest.  I'm  going  to  offer  myself  to  the 
daughter  of  the  redwoods  at  once." 

Shirley  and  Armitage  talked — as  people  will  on  ship 
board — of  everything  under  the  sun.  Shirley's  enthusi 
asms  were  in  themselves  interesting;  but  she  was 


92 

informed  in  the  world's  larger  affairs,  as  became  the 
daughter  of  a  man  who  was  an  authority  in  such  matters, 
and  found  it  pleasant  to  discuss  them  with  Armitage. 
He  felt  the  poetic  quality  in  her ;  it  was  that  which  had 
first  appealed  to  him;  but  he  did  not  know  that  some 
thing  of  the  same  sort  in  himself  touched  her;  it  was 
enough  for  those  days  that  he  was  courteous  and  amus 
ing,  and  gained  a  trifle  in  her  eyes  from  the  fact  that  he 
had  no  tangible  background. 

Then  came  the  evening  of  the  fifth  day.  They  were 
taking  a  turn  after  dinner  on  the  lighted  deck.  The 
spring  stars  hung  faint  and  far  through  thin  clouds  and 
the  wind  was  keen  from  the  sea.  A  few  passengers  were 
out;  the  deck  stewards  went  about  gathering  up  rugs 
and  chairs  for  the  night. 

"Time  oughtn't  to  be  reckoned  at  all  at  sea,  so  that 
people  who  feel  themselves  getting  old  might  sail  forth 
into  the  deep  and  defy  the  old  man  with  the  hour-glass." 

"I  like  the  idea.  Such  people  could  become  fishers — 
permanently,  and  grow  very  wise  from  so  much  brain 
good." 

"They  wouldn't  eat,  Mr.  Armitage.  Brain-food  for 
sooth!  You  talk  like  a  breakfast-food  advertisement. 
My  idea — mine,  please  note — is  for  such  fortunate  peo- 


ON   THE   DAKK   DECK  93 

pie  to  sail  in  pretty  little  boats  with  orange-tinted  sails 
and  pick  up  lost  dreams.  I  got  a  hint  of  that  in  a  pretty 
poem  once — 

"  'Time  seemed  to  pause  a  little  space, 
I  heard  a  dream  go  by.' " 

"But  out  here  in  mid-ocean  a  little  boat  with  lateen 
sails  wouldn't  ha\7e  much  show.  And  dreams  passing 
over — the  idea  is  pretty,  and  is  creditable  to  your  im 
agination.  But  I  thought  your  fancy  was  more  militant. 
Now,  for  example,  you  like  battle  pictures — "  he  said, 
and  paused  inquiringly. 

She  looked  at  him  quickly. 

"How  do  you  know  I  do  ?" 

"You  like  Detaille  particularly/' 

"Am  I  to  defend  my  taste  ? — what's  the  answer,  if  you 
don't  mind?" 

"Detaille  is  much  to  my  liking,  also;  but  I  prefer 
Flameng,  as  a  strictly  personal  matter.  That  was  a  won 
derful  collection  of  military  and  battle  pictures  shown 
in  Paris  last  winter." 

She  half  withdrew  her  hand  from  his  arm,  and  turned 
away.  The  sea  winds  did  not  wholly  account  for  the 
sudden  color  in  her  cheeks.  She  had  seen  Armitage  in 
Paris — in  cafes,  at  the  opera,  but  not  at  the  great  exhibi- 


94 

tion  of  world-famous  battle  pictures;  yet  undoubtedly 
he  had  seen  her ;  and  she  remembered  with  instant  con 
sciousness  the  hours  of  absorption  she  had  spent  before 
those  canvases. 

"It  was  a  public  exhibition,  I  believe;  there  was  no 
great  harm  in  seeing  it." 

"No ;  there  certainly  was  not  I"  He  laughed,  then  was 
serious  at  once.  Shirley's  tense,  arrested  figure,  her 
bright,  eager  eyes,  her  parted  lips,  as  he  saw  her  before 
the  battle  pictures  in  the  gallery  at  Paris,  came  up  before 
him  and  gave  him  pause.  He  could  not  play  upon  that 
stolen  glance  or  tease  her  curiosity  in  respect  to  it.  If 
this  were  a  ship  flirtation,  it  might  be  well  enough ;  but 
the  very  sweetness  and  open-heartedness  of  her  youth 
shielded  her.  It  seemed  to  him  in  that  moment  a  con 
temptible  and  unpardonable  thing  that  he  had  followed 
her  about — and  caught  her,  there  at  Paris,  in  an  exalted 
mood,  to  which  she  had  been  wrought  by  the  moving  in 
cidents  of  war. 

"I  was  in  Paris  during  the  exhibition,"  he  said  quietly. 
"Ormsby,  the  American  painter — the  man  who  did  the 
High  Tide  at  Gettysburg — is  an  acquaintance  of  mine." 

"Oh !" 

It  was  Ormsby's  painting  that  had  particularly  capti- 


ON   THE   DAEK   DECK  95 

vated  Shirley.  She  had  returned  to  it  day  after  day ;  and 
the  thought  that  Armitage  had  taken  advantage  of  her 
deep  interest  in  Pickett's  charging  gray  line  was  annoy 
ing,  and  she  abruptly  changed  the  subject. 

Shirley  had  speculated  much  as  to  the  meaning  of 
Armitage's  remark  at  the  carriage  door  in  Geneva — 
that  he  expected  the  slayer  of  the  old  Austrian  prime 
minister  to  pass  that  way.  Armitage  had  not  referred  to 
the  crime  in  any  way  in  his  talks  with  her  on  the  King 
Edivard;  their  conversations  had  been  pitched  usually  in 
a  light  and  frivolous  key,  or  if  one  were  disposed  to  be 
serious  the  other  responded  in  a  note  of  levity. 

"We're  all  imperialists  at  heart/'  said  Shirley,  refer 
ring  to  a  talk  between  them  earlier  in  the  day.  "We 
Americans  are  hungry  for  empire ;  we're  simply  waiting 
for  the  man  on  horseback  to  gallop  down  Broadway  and 
up  Fifth  Avenue  with  a  troop  of  cavalry  at  his  heels 
and  proclaim  the  new  dispensation." 

"And  before  he'd  gone  a  block  a  big  Irish  policeman 
would  arrest  him  for  disorderly  conduct  or  disturbing 
the  peace,  or  for  giving  a  show  without  a  license,  and 
the  republic  would  continue  to  do  business  at  the  old 
stand." 

"No;  the  police  would  have  been  bribed  in  advance, 


96  THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN" 

and  would  deliver  the  keys  of  the  city  to  the  new  em 
peror  at  the  door  of  St.  Patrick's  Cathedral,  and  his 
majesty  would  go  to  Sherry's  for  luncheon,  and  sign  a 
few  decrees,  and  order  the  guillotine  set  up  in  Union 
Square.  Do  you  follow  me,  Mr.  Armitage  ?" 

"Yes;  to  the  very  steps  of  the  guillotine,  Miss  Clai- 
borne.  But  the  looting  of  the  temples  and  the  plunder 
ing  of  banks — if  the  thing  is  bound  to  be — I  should  like 
to  share  in  the  general  joy.  But  I  have  an  idea,  Miss 
Claiborne,"  he  exclaimed,  as  though  with  inspiration. 

"Yes — you  have  an  idea — " 

"Let  me  be  the  man  on  horseback;  and  you  might 
be—" 

"Yes — the  suspense  is  terrible! — what  might  I  be, 
your  Majesty  ?" 

"Well,  we  should  call  you — " 

He  hesitated,  and  she  wondered  whether  he  would  be 
bold  enough  to  meet  the  issue  offered  by  this  turn  of 
their  nonsense. 

"I  seem  to  give  your  Majesty  difficulty;  the  silence 
isn't  flattering,"  she  said  mockingly;  but  she  was  con 
scious  of  a  certain  excitement  as  she  walked  the  deck  be 
side  him. 

"Oh,  pardon  me !   The  difficulty  is  only  as  to  title — 


ON   THE   DAEK   DECK  97 

you  would,  of  course,  occupy  the  dais ;  but  whether  you 
should  be  queen  or  empress — that's  the  rub !  If  America 
is  to  be  an  empire,  then  of  course  you  would  be  an  em 
press.  So  there  you  are  answered." 

They  passed  laughingly  on  to  the  other  phases  of  the 
matter  in  the  whimsical  vein  that  was  natural  in  her,  and 
to  which  he  responded.  They  watched  the  lights  of  an 
east-bound  steamer  that  was  passing  near.  The  ex 
change  of  rocket  signals — that  pretty  and  graceful  parley 
between  ships  that  pass  in  the  night — interested  them 
for  a  moment.  Then  the  deck  lights  went  out  so  sud 
denly  it  seemed  that  a  dark  curtain  had  descended  and 
shut  them  in  with  the  sea. 

"Accident  to  the  dynamo — we  shall  have  the  lights  on 
in  a  moment !"  shouted  the  deck  officer,  who  stood  near, 
talking  to  a  passenger. 

"Shall  we  go  in  ?"  asked  Armitage. 

"Yes,  it  is  getting  cold/'  replied  Shirley. 

For  a  moment  they  were  quite  alone  on  the  dark  deck, 
though  they  heard  voices  near  at  hand. 

They  were  groping  their  way  toward  the  main  saloon, 
where  they  had  left  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Claiborne,  when  Shir 
ley  was  aware  of  some  one  lurking  near.  A  figure 
seemed  to  be  crouching  close  by,  and  she  felt  its  furtive 


98  THE    PORT    OF    MISSING   MEN 

movements  and  knew  that  it  had  passed  but  remained 
a  few  feet  away.  Her  hand  on  Armitage's  arm  tightened. 

"What  is  that  ? — there  is  some  one  following  us/'  she 
said. 

At  the  same  moment  Armitage,  too,  became  aware  of 
the  presence  of  a  stooping  figure  behind  him.  He 
stopped  abruptly  and  faced  about. 

"Stand  quite  still,  Miss  Claiborne." 

He  peered  about,  and  instantly,  as  though  waiting  for 
his  voice,  a  tall  figure  rose  not  a  yard  from  him  and  a 
long  arm  shot  high  above  his  head  and  descended  swiftly. 
They  were  close  to  the  rail,  and  a  roll  of  the  ship  sent 
Armitage  off  his  feet  and  away  from  his  assailant.  Shir 
ley  at  the  same  moment  threw  out  her  hands,  defensively 
or  for  support,  and  clutched  the  arm  and  shoulder  of  the 
man  who  had  assailed  Armitage.  He  had  driven  a  knife 
at  John  Armitage,  and  was  poising  himself  for  another 
attempt  when  Shirley  seized  his  arm.  As  he  drew  back 
a  fold  of  his  cloak  still  lay  in  Shirley's  grasp,  and  she 
gave  a  sharp  little  cry  as  the  figure,  with  a  quick  jerk, 
released  the  cloak  and  slipped  away  into  the  shadows.  A 
moment  later  the  lights  were  restored,  and  she  saw  Ar 
mitage  regarding  ruefully  a  long  slit  in  the  left  arm  of 
his  ulster. 


ON   THE   DAEK   DECK  99 

"Are  you  hurt  ?  What  has  happened  ?"  she  demanded. 

"It  must  have  been  a  sea-serpent,"  he  replied,  laugh 
ing. 

The  deck  officer  regarded  them  curiously  as  they 
blinked  in  the  glare  of  light,  and  asked  whether  any 
thing  was  wrong.  Armitage  turned  the  matter  off. 

"I  guess  it  was  a  sea-serpent,"  he  said.  "It  bit  a  hole 
in  my  ulster,  for  which  I  am  not  grateful/'  Then  in  a 
lower  tone  to  Shirley:  "That  was  certainly  a  strange 
proceeding.  I  am  sorry  you  were  startled ;  and  I  am  un 
der  greatest  obligations  to  you,  Miss  Claiborne.  Why, 
yon  actually  pulled  the  fellow  away !" 

"Oh,  no,"  she  returned  lightly,  but  still  breathing 
hard;  "it  was  the  instinct  of  self-preservation.  I  was 
unsteady  on  my  feet  for  a  moment,  and  sought  some 
thing  to  take  hold  of.  That  pirate  was  the  nearest  thing, 
and  I  caught  hold  of  his  cloak ;  I'm  sure  it  was  a  cloak, 
and  that  makes  me  sure  he  was  a  human  villain  of  some 
sort.  He  didn't  feel  in  the  least  like  a  sea-serpent.  But 
some  one  tried  to  injure  you — it  is  no  jesting  matter — " 

"Some  lunatic  escaped  from  the  steerage,  probably.  I 
shall  report  it  to  the  officers." 

"Yes,  it  should  be  reported,"  said  Shirley. 

"It  was  very  strange.  Why,  the  deck  of  the  King  Ed- 


100         THE   POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

ward  is  the  safest  place  in  the  world ;  but  it's  something 
to  have  had  hold  of  a  sea-serpent,  or  a  pirate !  I  hope 
you  will  forgive  me  for  bringing  you  into  such  an  en 
counter  ;  but  if  you  hadn't  caught  his  cloak — " 

Armitage  was  uncomfortable,  and  anxious  to  allay 
her  fears.  The  incident  was  by  no  means  trivial,  as  he 
knew.  Passengers  on  the  great  transatlantic  steamers 
are  safeguarded  by  every  possible  means;  and  the  fact 
that  he  had  been  attacked  in  the  few  minutes  that  the 
deck  lights  had  been  out  of  order  pointed  to  an  espio 
nage  that  was  both  close  and  daring.  He  was  greatly 
surprised  and  more  shaken  than  he  wished  Shirley  to 
believe.  The  thing  was  disquieting  enough,  and  it  could 
not  but  impress  her  strangely  that  he,  of  all  the  persons 
on  board,  should  have  been  the  object  of  so  unusual  an 
assault.  He  was  in  the  disagreeable  plight  of  having 
subjected  her  to  danger,  and  as  they  entered  the  bril 
liant  saloon  he  freed  himself  of  the  ulster  with  its  tell 
tale  gash  and  sought  to  minimize  her  impression  of  the 
incident. 

Shirley  did  not  refer  to  the  matter  again,  but  resolved 
to  keep  her  own  counsel.  She  felt  that  any  one  who 
would  accept  the  one  chance  in  a  thousand  of  striking 
down  an  enemy  on  a  steamer  deck  must  be  animated  by 


ON   THE   DAEK   DECK  101 

very  bitter  hatred.  She  knew  that  to  speak  of  the  affair 
to  her  father  or  brother  would  be  to  alarm  them  and 
prejudice  them  against  John  Armitage,  about  whom  her 
brother,  at  least,  had  entertained  doubts.  And  it  is  not 
reassuring  as  to  a  man  of  whom  little  or  nothing  is 
known  that  he  is  menaced  by  secret  enemies. 

The  attack  had  found  Armitage  unprepared  and  off 
guard,  but  with  swift  reaction  his  wits  were  at  work.  He 
at  once  sought  the  purser  and  scrutinized  every  name  on 
the  passenger  list.  It  was  unlikely  that  a  steerage  pas 
senger  could  reach  the  saloon  deck  unobserved ;  a  second 
cabin  passenger  might  do  so,  however,  and  he  sought 
among  the  names  in  the  second  cabin  list  for  a  clue.  He 
did  not  believe  that  Chauvenet  or  Durand  had  boarded 
the  King  Edward.  He  himself  had  made  the  boat  only 
by  a  quick  dash,  and  he  had  left  those  two  gentlemen  at 
Geneva  with  much  to  consider. 

It  was,  however,  quite  within  the  probabilities  that 
they  would  send  some  one  to  watch  him,  for  the  two  men 
whom  he  had  overheard  in  the  dark  house  on  the  Boule 
vard  Froissart  were  active  and  resourceful  rascals,  he 
had  no  doubt.  Whether  they  would  be  able  to  make  any 
thing  of  the  cigarette  case  he  had  stupidly  left  behind 
he  could  not  conjecture;  but  the  importance  of  recover- 


102         THE   POET    OP.   MISSING   MEN 

ing  the  packet  he  had  cut  from  Chauvenet's  coat  was  not 
a  trifle  that  rogues  of  their  caliber  would  ignore.  There 
was,  the  purser  said,  a  sick  man  in  the  second  cabin, 
who  had  kept  close  to  his  berth.  The  steward  believed 
the  man  to  be  a  continental  of  some  sort,  who  spoke  bad 
German.  He  had  taken  the  boat  at  Liverpool,  paid  for 
his  passage  in  gold,  and,  complaining  of  illness,  retired, 
evidently  for  the  voyage.  His  name  was  Peter  Ludovic, 
and  the  steward  described  him  in  detail. 

"Big  fellow;  bullet  head;  bristling  mustache;  small 
eyes — " 

"That  will  do,"  said  Armitage,  grinning  at  the  ease 
with  which  he  identified  the  man. 

"You  understand  that  it  is  wholly  irregular  for  us  to 
let  such  a  matter  pass  without  acting — "  said  the  purser. 

"It  would  serve  no  purpose,  and  might  do  harm.  I 
will  take  the  responsibility." 

And  John  Armitage  made  a  memorandum  in  his  note 
book: 

"Zmai ;  travels  as  Peter  Ludovic/' 

Armitage  carried  the  envelope  which  he  had  cut  from 
Chauvenet's  coat  pinned  into  an  inner  pocket  of  his 
waistcoat,  and  since  boarding  the  King  Edward  he  had 


ON   THE   DAKK   DECK  103 

examined  it  twice  daily  to  see  that  it  was  intact.  The 
three  red  wax  seals  were  in  blank,  replacing  those  of 
like  size  that  had  originally  been  affixed  to  the  envelope ; 
and  at  once  after  the  attack  on  the  dark  deck  he  opened 
the  packet  and  examined  the  papers — some  half-dozen 
tsheets  of  thin  linen,  written  in  a  clerk's  clear  hand  in 
black  ink.  There  had  been  no  mistake  in  the  matter ;  the 
packet  which  Chauvenet  had  purloined  from  the  old 
prime  minister  at  Vienna  had  come  again  into  Armi- 
tage's  hands.  He  was  daily  tempted  to  destroy  it  and 
cast  it  in  bits  to  the  sea  winds ;  but  he  was  deterred  by 
the  remembrance  of  his  last  interview  with  the  old  prime 
minister. 

"Do  something  for  Austria — something  for  the  Em 
pire."  These  phrases  repeated  themselves  over  and  over 
again  in  his  mind  until  they  rose  and  fell  with  the  ca 
dence  of  the  high,  wavering  voice  of  the  Cardinal  Arch 
bishop  of  Vienna  as  he  chanted  the  mass  of  requiem  for 
Count  Ferdinand  von  Stroebel. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
"THE  KING  is  DEAD;  LONG  LIVE  THE 

Low  he  lies,  yet  high  and  great 
Looms  he,  lying  thus  in  state. — 
How  exalted  o'er  ye  when 
Dead,  my  lords  and  gentlemen! 

— James  Whitcomb  Riley. 

John  Armitage  lingered  in  New  York  for  a  week,  not 
to  press  the  Claibornes  too  closely,  then  went  to  Wash 
ington.  He  wrote  himself  down  on  the  register  of  the 
New  American  as  John  Armitage,  Cinch  Tight,  Mon 
tana,  and  took  a  suite  of  rooms  high  up,  with  an  out 
look  that  swept  Pennsylvania  Avenue.  It  was  on  the 
evening  of  a  bright  April  day  that  he  thus  established 
himself;  and  after  he  had  unpacked  his  belongings  he 
stood  long  at  the  window  and  watched  the  lights  leap 
out  of  the  dusk  over  the  city.  He  was  in  Washington  be 
cause  Shirley  Claiborne  lived  there,  and  he  knew  that 
even  if  he  wished  to  do  so  he  could  no  longer  throw  an 
air  of  inadvertence  into  his  meetings  with  her.  He  had 

104 


"LONG   LIVE    THE   KING"  105 

been  very  lonely  in  those  days  when  he  first  saw  her 
abroad ;  the  sight  of  her  had  lifted  his  mood  of  depres 
sion;  and  now,  after  those  enchanted  hours  at  sea,  his 
coming  to  Washington  had  been  inevitable. 

Many  things  passed  through  his  mind  as  he  stood  at 
the  open  window.  His  life,  he  felt,  could  never  be  again 
as  it  had  been  before,  and  he  sighed  deeply  as  he  re 
called  his  talk  with  the  old  prime  minister  at  Geneva. 
Then  he  laughed  quietly  as  he  remembered  Chauvenet 
and  Durand  and  the  dark  house  on  the  Boulevard  Frois- 
sart ;  but  the  further  recollection  of  the  attack  made  on 
his  life  on  the  deck  of  the  King  Edward  sobered  him, 
and  he  turned  away  from  the  window  impatiently.  He 
had  seen  the  sick  second-cabin  passenger  leave  the 
steamer  at  New  York,  but  had  taken  no  trouble  either  to 
watch  or  to  avoid  him.  Very  likely  the  man  was  under 
instructions,  and  had  been  told  to  follow  the  Claibornes 
home;  and  the  thought  of  their  identification  with  him 
self  by  his  enemies  angered  him.  Chauvenet  was  likely 
to  appear  in  Washington  at  any  time,  and  would  un 
doubtedly  seek  the  Claibornes  at  once.  The  fact  that  the 
man  was  a  scoundrel  might,  in  some  circumstances, 
have  afforded  Armitage  comfort,  but  here  again  Armi- 
tage's  mood  grew  dark.  Jules  Chauvenet  was  undoubt- 


106         THE    POET    OF    MISSING    MEN 

edly  a  rascal  of  a  shrewd  and  dangerous  type ;  but  who, 
pray,  was  John  Armitage  ? 

The  bell  in  his  entry  rang,  and  he  flashed  on  the  lights 
and  opened  the  door. 

"Well,  I  like  this !  Setting  yourself  up  here  in  gloomy 
splendor  and  never  saying  a  word.  You  never  deserved 
to  have  any  friends,  John  Armitage !" 

"Jim  Sanderson,  come  in!"  Armitage  grasped  the 
hands  of  a  red-bearded  giant  of  forty,  the  possessor  of 
alert  brown  eyes  and  a  big  voice. 

"It's  my  rural  habit  of  reading  the  register  every 
night  in  search  of  constituents  that  brings  me  here. 
They  said  they  guessed  you  were  in,  so  I  just  came  up 
to  see  whether  you  were  opening  a  poker  game  or  had 
come  to  sneak  a  claim  past  the  watch-dog  of  the 
treasury." 

The  caller  threw  himself  into  a  chair  and  rolled  a  fat, 
unlighted  cigar  about  in  his  mouth.  "You're  a  peach, 
all  right,  and  as  offensively  hale  and  handsome  as  ever. 
When  are  you  going  to  the  ranch  ?" 

"Well,  not  just  immediately;  I  want  to  sample  the 
flesh-pots  for  a  day  or  two." 

"You're  getting  soft, — that's  what's  the  matter  with 
you !  You're  afraid  of  the  spring  zephyrs  on  the  Mon- 


"LONG   LIVE   THE   KING"  107 

tana  range.  Well,  I'll  admit  that  it's  rather  more  di 
verting  here." 

"There  is  no  debating  that,  Senator.  How  do  you  like 
being  a  statesman?  It  was  so  sudden  and  all  that.  I 
read  an  awful  roast  of  you  in  an  English  paper.  They 
took  your  election  to  the  Senate  as  another  evidence  of 
the  complete  domination  of  our  politics  by  the  pluto 
crats." 

Sanderson  winked  prodigiously. 

"The  papers  have  rather  skinned  me;  but  on  the 
whole,  I'll  do  very  well.  They  say  it  isn't  respectable 
to  be  a  senator  these  days,  but  they  oughtn't  to  hold  it 
up  against  a  man  that  he's  rich.  If  the  Lord  put  silver 
in  the  mountains  of  Montana  and  let  me  dig  it  out,  it's 
nothing  against  me,  is  it  ?" 

"Decidedly  not!  And  if  you  want  to  invest  it  in  a 
senatorship  it's  the  Lord's  hand  again." 

"Why  sure !"  and  the  Senator  from  Montana  winked 
once  more.  "But  it's  expensive.  I've  got  to  be  elected 
again  next  winter — I'm  only  filling  out  Billings'  term — 
and  I'm  not  sure  I  can  go  up  against  it." 

"But  you  are  nothing  if  not  unselfish.  If  the  good  of 
the  country  demands  it  you'll  not  falter,  if  I  know  you." 

"There's  hot  water  heat  in  this  hotel,  so  please  turn 


off  the  hot  air.  I  saw  your  foreman  in  Helena  the  last 
time  I  was  out  there,  and  he  was  sober.  I  mention  the 
fact,  knowing  that  I'm  jeopardizing  my  reputation  for 
veracity,  but  it's  the  Lord's  truth.  Of  course  you  spent 
Christmas  at  the  old  home  in  England — one  of  ihose 
yule-log  and  plum-pudding  Christmases  you  read  of  in 
novels.  You  Englishmen — " 

"My  dear  Sanderson,  don't  call  me  English !  I've  told 
you  a  dozen  times  that  I'm  not  English/' 

"So  you  did;  so  you  did!  I'd  forgotten  that  you're 
so  damned  sensitive  about  it;"  and  Sanderson's  eyes  re 
garded  Annitage  intently  for  a  moment,  as  though  he 
were  trying  to  recall  some  previous  discussion  of  the 
young  man's  nativity. 

"I  offer  you  free  swing  at  the  bar,  Senator.  May  I 
summon  a  Montana  cocktail?  You  taught  me  the  in 
gredients  once — -'three  dashes  orange  bitters ;  two  dashes 
acid  phosphate ;  half  a  jigger  of  whisky ;  half  a  jigger  of 
Italian  vermuth.  You  undermined  the  constitutions  of 
half  Montana  with  that  mess." 

Sanderson  reached  for  his  hat  with  sudden  dejection. 

"The  sprinkling  cart  for  me !  I've  got  a  nerve  special 
ist  engaged  by  the  year  to  keep  me  out  of  sanatoriums. 
See  here,  I  want  you  to  go  with  us  to-night  to  the  Secre- 


"LONG   LIVE   THE   KING"  109 

tary  of  State's  push.  Not  many  of  the  Montana  boys  get 
this  far  from  home,  and  I  want  you  for  exhibition  pur 
poses.  Say,  John,  when  I  saw  Cinch  Tight,  Montana, 
written  on  the  register  down  there  it  increased  my  cir 
culation  seven  beats !  You're  all  right,  and  I  guess  you're 
about  as  good  an  American  as  they  make — anywhere — 
John  Armitage !" 

The  function  for  which  the  senator  from  Montana 
provided  an  invitation  for  Armitage  was  a  large  affair  in 
honor  of  several  new  ambassadors.  At  ten  o'clock  Sen 
ator  Sanderson  was  introducing  Armitage  right  and  left 
as  one  of  his  representative  constituents.  Armitage  and 
he  owned  adjoining  ranches  in  Montana,  and  Sanderson 
called  upon  his  neighbor  to  stand  up  boldly  for  their 
state  before  the  minions  of  effete  monarchies. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  had  asked  Armitage  to  return  to  her 
for  a  little  Montana  talk,  as  she  put  it,  after  the  first 
rush  of  their  entrance  was  over,  and  as  he  waited  in  the 
drawing-room  for  an  opportunity  of  speaking  to  her,  he 
chatted  with  Franzel,  an  attache  of  the  Austrian  em 
bassy,  to  whom  Sanderson  had  introduced  him.  Franzel 
was  a  gloomy  young  man  with  a  monocle,  and  he  was 
waiting  for  a  particular  girl,  who  happened  to  be  the 
daughter  of  the  Spanish  Ambassador.  And,  this  being 


his  object,  he  had  chosen  his  position  with  care,  near  the 
door  of  the  drawing-room,  and  Armitage  shared  for  the 
moment  the  advantage  that  lay  in  the  Austrian's  point 
of  view.  Armitage  had  half  expected  that  the  Claibornes 
would  be  present  at  a  function  as  comprehensive  of  the 
higher  official  world  as  this,  and  he  intended  asking 
Mrs.  Sanderson  if  she  knew  them  as  soon  as  opportu 
nity  offered.  The  Austrian  attache  proved  tiresome,  and 
Armitage  was  about  to  drop  him,  when  suddenly  he 
caught  sight  of  Shirley  Claiborne  at  the  far  end  of  the 
broad  hall.  Her  head  was  turned  partly  toward  him ;  he 
saw  her  for  an  instant  through  the  throng ;  then  his  eyes 
fell  upon  Chauvenet  at  her  side,  talking  with  liveliest 
animation.  He  was  not  more  than  her  own  height,  and 
his  profile  presented  the  clean,  sharp  effect  of  a  cameo. 
The  vivid  outline  of  his  dark  face  held  Armitage's  eyes ; 
then  as  Shirley  passed  on  through  an  opening  in  the 
crowd  her  escort  turned,  holding  the  way  open  for  her, 
and  Armitage  met  the  man's  gaze. 

It  was  with  an  accented  gravity  that  Armitage  nodded 
his  head  to  some  declaration  of  the  melancholy  attache 
at  this  moment.  He  had  known  when  he  left  Geneva 
that  he  had  not  done  with  Jules  Chauvenet;  but  the 
man's  prompt  appearance  surprised  Armitage.  He  ran 


"LONG   LIVE   THE   KING"  111 

over  the  names  of  the  steamers  by  which  Chauvenet 
might  easily  have  sailed  from  either  a  German  or  a 
French  port  and  reached  Washington  quite  as  soon  as 
himself.  Chauvenet  was  in  Washington,  at  any  rate, 
and  not  only  there,  but  socially  accepted  and  in  the 
good  graces  of  Shirley  Claiborne. 

The  somber  attache  was  speaking  of  the  Japanese. 

"They  must  be  crushed — crushed,"  said  Franzel.  The 
two  had  been  conversing  in  French. 

"Yes,  he  must  be  crushed,"  returned  Armitage  ab 
sent-mindedly,  in  English;  then,  remembering  himself, 
he  repeated  the  affirmation  in  French,  changing  the  pro 
noun. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  was  now  free.  She  was  a  pretty,  viva 
cious  woman,  much  younger  than  her  stalwart  husband, 
— a  college  graduate  whom  he  had  found  teaching  school 
near  one  of  his  silver  mines. 

"Welcome  once  more,  constituent!  We're  proud  to 
see  you,  I  can  tell  you.  Our  host  owns  some  marvelous 
tapestries  and  they're  hung  out  to-night  for  the  world 
to  see."  She  guided  Armitage  toward  the  Secretary's 
gallery  on  an  upper  floor.  Their  host  was  almost  as  fa 
mous  as  a  connoisseur  as%for  his  achievements  in  diplo 
macy,  and  the  gallery  was  a  large  apartment  in  which 


112         THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

every  article  of  furniture,  as  well  as  the  paintings,  tapes 
tries  and  specimens  of  pottery,  was  the  careful  choice  of 
a  thoroughly  cultivated  taste. 

"It  isn't  merely  an  art  gallery ;  it's  the  most  beautiful 
room  in  America,"  murmured  Mrs.  Sanderson. 

"I  can  well  believe  it.  There's  my  favorite  Yibert, — 
I  wondered  what  had  become  of  it." 

"It  isn't  surprising  that  the  Secretary  is  making  a 
great  reputation  by  his  dealings  with  foreign  powers. 
It's  a  poor  ambassador  who  could  not  be  persuaded  after 
an  hour  in  this  splendid  room.  The  ordinary  affairs  of 
life  should  not  be  mentioned  here.  A  king's  coronation 
would  not  be  cut  of  place, — in  fact,  there's  a  chair  in 
the  corner  against  that  Gobelin  that  would  serve  the 
situation.  The  old  gentleman  by  that  cabinet  is  the 
Baron  von  Marhof,  the  Ambassador  from  Austria-Hun 
gary.  He's  a  brother-in-law  of  Count  von  Stroebel,  who 
was  murdered  so  horribly  in  a  railway  carriage  a  few 
weeks  ago." 

"Ah,  to  be  sure !  I  haven't  seen  the  Baron  in  years. 
He  has  changed  little." 

"Then  you  knew  him, — in  the  old  country  ?" 

"Yes;  I  used  to  see  him — when  I  was  a  boy,"  re 
marked  Armitage. 


"LONG   LIVE   THE   KING"  113 

Mrs.  Sanderson  glanced  at  Armitage  sharply.  She 
had  dined  at  his  ranch  house  in  Montana  and  knew  that 
he  lived  like  a  gentleman, — that  his  house,  its  appoint 
ments  and  service  were  unusual  for  a  western  ranch 
man.  And  she  recalled,  too,  that  she  and  her  husband 
had  often  speculated  as  to  Armitage's  antecedents  and 
history,  without  arriving  at  any  conclusion  in  regard  to 
him. 

The  room  had  slowly  filled  and  they  strolled  about, 
dividing  attention  between  distinguished  personages  and 
the  not  less  celebrated  works  of  art. 

"Oh,  by  the  way,  Mr.  Armitage,  there's  the  girl  I  have 
chosen  for  you  to  marry.  I  suppose  it  would  be  just  as 
well  for  you  to  meet  her  now,  though  that  dark  little 
foreigner  seems  to  be  monopolizing  her." 

"I  am  wholly  agreeable,"  laughed  Armitage.  "The 
sooner  the  better,  and  be  done  with  it." 

"Don't  be  so  frivolous.  There — you  can  look  safely 
now.  She's  stopped  to  speak  to  that  bald  and  pink  Jus 
tice  of  the  Supreme  Court, — -the  girl  with  the  brown 
eyes  and  hair, — have  a  care !" 

Shirley  and  Chauvenet  left  the  venerable  Justice,  and 
Mrs.  Sanderson  intercepted  them  at  once. 

"To  think  of  all  these  beautiful  things  in  our  own 


America !"  exclaimed  Shirley.  "And  you,  Mr.  Armi 
tage— » 

"Among  the  other  curios,  Miss  Claiborne,"  laughed 
John,  taking  her  hand. 

"But  I  haven't  introduced  you  yet" — began  Mrs. 
;  Sanderson,  puzzled. 

"No;  the  King  Edward  did  that.  We  crossed  to 
gether.  Oh,  Monsieur  Chauvenet,  let  me  present  Mr.  Ar 
mitage,"  said  Shirley,  seeing  that  the  men  had  not 
spoken. 

The  situation  amused  Armitage  and  he  smiled  rather 
more  broadly  than  was  necessary  in  expressing  his  pleas 
ure  at  meeting  Monsieur  Chauvenet.  They  regarded 
each  other  with  the  swift  intentness  of  men  who  are  used 
to  the  sharp  exercise  of  their  eyes ;  and  when  Armitage 
turned  toward  Shirley  and  Mrs.  Sanderson,  he  was 
aware  that  Chauvenet  continued  to  regard  him  with 
fixed  gaze. 

"Miss  Claiborne  is  a  wonderful  sailor ;  the  Atlantic  is 
a  little  tumultuous  at  times  in  the  spring,  but  she  re 
ported  to  the  captain  every  day." 

"Miss  Claiborne  is  nothing  if  not  extraordinary,"  de 
clared  Mrs.  Sanderson  with  frank  admiration. 

"The  word  seems  to  have  been  coined  for  her,"  said 


"LONG   LIVE   THE   KING"  115 

Chauvenet,  his  white  teeth  showing  under  his  thin  black 
mustache. 

"And  still  leaves  the  language  distinguished  chiefly 
for  its  poverty,"  added  Armitage;  and  the  men  bowed 
to  Shirley  and  then  to  Mrs.  Sanderson,  and  again  to 
each  other.  It  was  like  a  rehearsal  of  some  trifle  in  a 
comedy. 

"How  charming!"  laughed  Mrs.  Sanderson.  "And 
this  lovely  room  is  just  the  place  for  it." 

They  were  still  talking  together  as  Franzel,  with 
whom  Armitage  had  spoken  below,  entered  hurriedly. 
He  held  a  crumpled  note,  whose  contents,  it  seemed,  had 
shaken  him  out  of  his  habitual  melancholy  composure. 

"Is  Baron  von  Marhof  in  the  room  ?"  he  asked  of  Ar 
mitage,  fumbling  nervously  at  his  monocle. 

The  Austrian  Ambassador,  with  several  ladies,  and 
led  by  Senator  Sanderson,  was  approaching. 

The  attache  hurried  to  his  chief  and  addressed  him  in 
a  low  tone.  The  Ambassador  stopped,  grew  very  white, 
and  stared  at  the  messenger  for  a  moment  in  blank  unbe 
lief. 

The  young  man  now  repeated,  in  English,  in  a  tone 
that  could  be  heard  in  all  parts  of  the  hushed  room : 

"His  Majesty,  the  Emperor  Johann  Wilhelm,  died 


116         THE   POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

suddenly  to-night,  in  Vienna/'  he  said,  and  gave  his  arm 
to  his  chief. 

It  was  a  strange  place  for  the  delivery  of  such  a  mes 
sage,  and  the  strangeness  of  it  was  intensified  to  Shirley 
by  the  curious  glance  that  passed  between  John  Armi- 
tage  and  Jules  Chauvenet.  Shirley  remembered  after 
ward  that  as  the  attache's  words  rang  out  in  the  room, 
Armitage  started,  clenched  his  hands,  and  caught  his 
breath  in  a  manner  very  uncommon  in  men  unless  they 
are  greatly  moved.  The  Ambassador  walked  directly 
from  the  room  with  bowed  head,  and  every  one  waited 
in  silent  sympathy  until  he  had  gone. 

The  word  passed  swiftly  through  the  great  house,  and 
through  the  open  windows  the  servants  were  heard  cry 
ing  loudly  for  Baron  von  Marhof's  carriage  in  the  court 
below. 

"The  King  is  dead ;  long  live  the  King !"  murmured 
Shirley. 

"Long  live  the  King!"  repeated  Chauvenet  and  Mrs. 
Sanderson,  in  unison;  and  then  Armitage,  as  though 
mastering  a  phrase  they  were  teaching  him,  raised  his 
head  and  said,  with  an  unction  that  surprised  them, 
''Long  live  the  Emperor  and  King !  God  save  Austria  \" 

Then  he  turned  to  Shirley  with  a  smile. 


"LONG  LIVE   THE   KING"  117 

"It  is  very  pleasant  to  see  you  on  your  own  ground.  I 
hope  your  family  are  well." 

"Thank  you;  yes.  My  father  and  mother  are  here 
somewhere." 

"And  Captain  Claiborne?" 

"He's  probably  sitting  up  all  night  to  defend  Fort 
Myer  from  the  crafts  and  assaults  of  the  enemy.  I  hope 
you  will  come  to  see  us,  Mr.  Armitage." 

"Thank  you ;  you  are  very  kind,"  he  said  gravely.  "I 
shall  certainly  give  myself  the  pleasure  very  soon." 

As  Shirley  passed  on  with  Chauvenet  Mrs.  Sanderson 
launched  upon  the  girl's  praises,  but  she  found  him  sud 
denly  preoccupied. 

"The  girl  has  gone  to  your  head.  Why  didn't  you  tell 
me  you  knew  the  Claibornes  ?" 

"I  don't  remember  that  you  gave  me  a  chance;  but 
I'll  say  now  that  I  intend  to  know  them  better." 

She  bade  him  take  her  to  the  drawing-room.  As  they 
went  down  through  the  house  they  found  that  the  an 
nouncement  of  the  Emperor  Johann  Wilhelm's  death 
had  cast  a  pall  upon  the  company.  All  the  members  of 
the  diplomatic  corps  had  withdrawn  at  once  as  a  mark 
of  respect  and  sympathy  for  Baron  von  Marhof,  and  at 
midnight  the  ball-room  held  all  of  the  company  that  re- 


118         THE   POET   OF   MISSING   MEK" 

mained.  Armitage  had  not  sought  Shirley  again.  He 
found  a  room  that  had  been  set  apart  for  smokers,  threw 
himself  into  a  chair,  lighted  a  cigar  and  stared  at  a  pic 
ture  that  had  no  interest  for  him  whatever.  He  put 
down  his  cigar  after  a  few  whiffs,  and  his  hand  went  to 
the  pocket  in  which  he  had  usually  carried  his  cigarette 
case. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Armitage,  may  I  offer  you  a  cigarette  ?" 

He  turned  to  find  dhanvenet  close  at  his  side.  He 
had  not  heard  the  man  enter,  but  Chauvenet  had  been  in 
his  thoughts  and  he  started  slightly  at  finding  him  so 
near.  Chauvenet  held  in  his  white-gloved  hand  a  gold 
cigarette  case,  which  he  opened  with  a  deliberate  care 
that  displayed  its  embellished  side.  The  smooth  golden 
surface  gleamed  in  the  light,  the  helmet  in  blue,  and  the 
white  falcon  flashed  in  Armitage's  eyes.  The  meeting 
was  clearly  by  intention,  and  a  slight  smile  played  about 
Chauvenet's  lips  in  his  enjoyment  of  the  situation.  Ar- 
mitage  smiled  up  at  him  in  amiable  acknowledgment  of 
his  courtesy,  and  rose. 

"You  are  very  considerate,  Monsieur.  I  was  just  at 
the  moment  regretting  our  distinguished  host^s  over 
sight  in  providing  cigars  alone.  Allow  me !" 

He  bent  forward,  took  the  outstretched  open  case 


'<LONG   LIVE   THE   KING"  119 

into  his  own  hands,  removed  a  cigarette,  snapped  the 
case  shut  and  thrust  it  into  his  trousers  pocket, — all,  as 
it  seemed,  at  a  single  stroke. 

"My  dear  sir/'  began  Chauvenet,  white  with  rage. 

"My  dear  Monsieur  Chauvenet,"  said  Armitage,  strik 
ing  a  match,  "I  am  indebted  to  you  for  returning  a  trin 
ket  that  I  ralue  highly." 

The  flame  crept  half  the  length  of  the  stick  while 
they  regarded  each  other;  then  Armitage  raised  it  to 
the  tip  of  his  cigarette,  lifted  his  head  and  blew  a  cloud 
of  smoke, 

"Are  yon  able  to  prove  your  property,  Mr.  Armi 
tage  ?"  demanded  Chauvenet  furiously. 

"My  dear  sir,  they  have  a  saying  in  this  country  that 
possession  is  nine  points  of  the  law.  You  had  it — now 
I  have  it — wherefore  it  must  be  mine !" 

Chauvenet's  rigid  figure  suddenly  relaxed;  he  leaned 
against  a  chair  with  a  return  of  his  habitual  nonchalant 
air,  and  waved  his  hand  carelessly. 

"Between  gentlemen — so  small  a  matter!" 

"To  be  sure — the  merest  trifle,"  laughed  Armitage 
with  entire  good  humor. 

"And  where  a  gentleman  has  the  predatory  habits  of 
a  burglar  and  housebreaker — " 


120         THE   POET   OF   MISSING   MEN 

"Then  lesser  affairs,  such  as  picking  up  trinkets — ** 

"Come  naturally — quite  so!"  and  Chauvenet  twisted 
his  mustache  with  an  air  of  immense  satisfaction. 

"But  the  genial  art  of  assassination — there's  a  busi 
ness  that  requires  a  calculating  hand,  my  dear  Monsieur 
Chauvenet !" 

Chauvenet's  hand  went  again  to  his  lip. 

"To  be  sure !"  he  ejaculated  with  zest. 

"But  alone — alone  one  can  do  little.  For  larger 
operations  one  requires — I  should  say — courageous  as 
sociates.  Now  in  my  affairs — would  you  believe  me? — 
I  am  obliged  to  manage  quite  alone." 

"How  melancholy !"  exclaimed  Chauvenet. 

'  'It  is  indeed  very  sad  ! ' '  and  Armitage  sighed,  tossed 
his  cigarette  into  the  smoldering  grate  and  bade  Chauve 
net  a  ceremonious  good  night. 

"All,  we  shall  meet  again,  I  dare  say!" 

'  'The  thought  does  credit  to  a  generous  nature ! ' '  re 
sponded  Armitage,  and  passed  out  into  the  house. 


CHAPTER  IX 

"THIS  IS  AMERICA,  MR.  ARMITAGE" 

Lo!  as  I  came  to  the  crest  of  the  hill,  the  sun  on  the  heights 

had  arisen, 
The  dew  on  the  grass  was  shining,  and  white  was  the  mist 

on  the  vale ; 
Like  a  lark  on  the  wing  of  the  dawn  I  sang;  like  a  guiltless 

one  freed  from  his  prison, 
As  backward  I  gazed  through  the  valley,  and  saw  no  one  on 

my  trail. 

— L.  Frank  Tooker. 

Spring,  planting  green  and  gold  banners  on  old  Vir 
ginia  battle-fields,  crossed  the  Potomac  and  occupied 
Washington. 

Shirley  Claiborne  called  for  her  horse  and  rode  forth 
to  greet  the  conqueror.  The  afternoon  was  keen  and 
sunny,  and  she  had  turned  impatiently  from  a  tea,  to^ 
which  she  was  committed,  to  seek  the  open.  The  call  of 
the  outdoor  gods  sang  in  her  blood.  Daffodils  and 
crocuses  lifted  yellow  flames  and  ruddy  torches  from 
every  dooryard.  She  had  pinned  a  spray  of  arbutus  to 
the  lapel  of  her  tan  riding-coat ;  it  spoke  to  her  of  the 

121 


122         THE   POET   OF   MISSING   MEN 

blue  horizons  of  the  near  Virginia  hills.  The  young 
buds  in  the  maples  hovered  like  a  mist  in  the  tree-tops. 
Towering  over  all,  the  incomparable  gray  obelisk 
climbed  to  the  blue  arch  and  brought  it  nearer  earth. 
Washington,  the  center  of  man's  hope,  is  also,  in  spring, 
the  capital  of  the  land  of  heart's  desire. 

With  a  groom  trailing  after  her,  Shirley  rode  toward 
Eock  Creek, — that  rippling,  murmuring,  singing  trifle 
of  water  that  laughs  day  and  night  at  the  margin  of 
the  beautiful  city,  as  though  politics  and  statesmanship 
were  the  hugest  joke  in  the  world.  The  flag  on  the 
Austro-Hungarian  embassy  hung  at  half-mast  and  sym 
bols  of  mourning  fluttered  from  the  entire  front  of  thi 
house.  Shirley  lifted  her  eyes  gravely  as  she  passed. 
Her  thoughts  flew  at  once  to  the  scene  at  the  house  of 
the  Secretary  of  State  a  week  before,  when  Baron  von 
Marhof  had  learned  of  the  death  of  his  sovereign;  and 
by  association  she  thought,  too,  of  Armitage,  and  of  his 
look  and  voice  as  he  said : 

"Long  live  the  Emperor  and  King!  God  save  Aus 
tria!" 

Emperors  and  kings!  They  were  as  impossible  to 
day  as  a  snowstorm.  The  grave  ambassadors  as  they 
appeared  at  great  Washington  functions,  wearing  their 


'THIS   IS   AMEEICA,   ME.   AEMITAGE"    123 

decorations,  always  struck  her  as  being  particularly  dis 
tinguished.  It  just  now  occurred  to  her  that  they  were 
all  linked  to  the  crown  and  scepter;  but  she  dismissed 
the  whole  matter  and  bowed  to  two  dark  ladies  in  a  pass 
ing  victoria  with  the  quick  little  nod  and  bright  smile 
that  were  the  same  for  these  titled  members  of  the 
Spanish  Ambassador's  household  as  for  the  young 
daughters  of  a  western  senator,  who  democratically 
waved  their  hands  to  her  from  a  doorstep. 

Armitage  came  again  to  her  mind.  He  had  called  at 
the  Claiborne  house  twice  since  the  Secretary's  ball, 
and  she  had  been  surprised  to  find  how  fully  she  ac 
cepted  him  as  an  American,  now  that  he  was  on  her 
own  soil.  He  derived,  too,  a  certain  stability  from  the 
fact  that  the  Sandersons  knew  him ;  he  was,  indeed,  an 
entirely  different  person  since  the  Montana  Senator  defi 
nitely  connected  him  with  an  American  landscape.  She 
had  kept  her  own  counsel  touching  the  scene  on  the 
dark  deck  of  the  King  Edward,  but  it  was  not  a  thing 
lightly  to  be  forgotten.  She  was  half  angry  with  herself 
this  mellow  afternoon  to  find  how  persistently  Armi 
tage  came  into  her  thoughts,  and  how  the  knife-thrust 
on  the  steamer  deck  kept  recurring  in  her  mind  and 
quickening  her  sympathy  for  a  man  of  whom  she  knew 


124         THE   PORT   OF   MISSING   MEN 

so  little ;  and  she  touched  her  horse  impatiently  with  the 
crop  and  rode  into  the  park  at  a  gait  that  roused  the 
groom  to  attention. 

At  a  bend  of  the  road  Chauvenet  and  Franzel,  the 
.attache,  swung  into  view,  mounted,  and  as  they  met, 
Chauvenet  turned  his  horse  and  rode  beside  her. 

"Ah,  these  American  airs !  This  spring !  Is  it  not 
good  to  be  alive,  Miss  Claiborne  ?" 

"It  is  all  of  that !"  she  replied.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
the  day  had  not  needed  Chauvenet's  praise. 

"I  had  hoped  to  see  you  later  at  the  Wallingford  tea !" 
he  continued. 

"No  teas  for  me  on  a  day  like  this !  The  thought  of 
being  indoors  is  tragic !" 

She  wished  that  he  would  leave  her,  for  she  had  rid 
den  out  into  the  spring  sunshine  to  be  alone.  He  some 
how  did  not  appear  to  advantage  in  his  riding-coat, — 
his  belongings  were  too  perfect.  She  had  really  en 
joyed  his  talk  when  they  had  met  here  and  there 
abroad ;  but  she  was  in  no  mood  for  him  now ;  and  she 
wondered  what  he  had  lost  by  the  transfer  to  America. 
He  ran  on  airily  in  French,  speaking  of  the  rush  of 
great  and  small  social  affairs  that  marked  the  end  of 
the  season. 


"THIS   IS   AMERICA,   MR.   ARMITAGE"    125 

"Poor  Franzel  is  indeed  triste.  He  is  taking  the  death 
of  Johann  Wilhelm  quite  hard.  But  here  in  America 
the  death  of  an  emperor  seems  less  important.  A  king 
or  a  peasant,  what  does  it  matter !" 

"Better  ask  the  robin  in  yonder  budding  chestnut 
tree,  Monsieur.  This  is  not  an  hour  for  hard  ques 
tions  !" 

"Ah,  you  are  very  cruel !  You  drive  me  back  to  poor, 
melancholy  Franzel,  who  is  indeed  a  funeral  in  him 
self." 

"That  is  very  sad,  Monsieur/' — and  she  smiled  at  him 
with  mischief  in  her  eyes.  "My  heart  goes  out  to  any 
one  who  is  left  to  mourn — alone/' 

He  gathered  his  reins  and  drew  up  his  horse,  lifting 
his  hat  with  a  perfect  gesture. 

"There  are  sadder  blows  than  losing  one's  sovereign, 
Mademoiselle!"  and  he  shook  his  bared  head  mourn 
fully  and  rode  back  to  find  his  friend. 

She  sought  now  her  favorite  bridle-paths  and  her 
heart  was  light  with  the  sweetness  and  peace  of  the 
spring  as  she  heard  the  rush  and  splash  of  the  creek, 
saw  the  flash  of  wings  and  felt  the  mystery  of  awakened 
life  throbbing  about  her.  The  heart  of  a  girl  in  spring 
is  the  home  of  dreams,  and  Shirley's  heart  overflowed 


126         THE   PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

with  them,  until  her  pulse  thrilled  and  sang  in  quicken 
ing  cadences.  The  wistfulness  of  April,  the  dream  of 
unfathomable  things,  shone  in  her  brown  eyes;  and  a 
girl  with  dreams  in  her  eyes  is  the  divinest  work  of  the 
gods.  Into  this  twentieth  century,  into  the  iron  heart  of 
cities,  she  still  comes,  and  the  clear,  high  stars  of  April 
nights  and  the  pensive  moon  of  September  are  glad  be 
cause  of  her. 

The  groom  marveled  at  the  sudden  changes  of  gait, 
the  gallops  that  fell  abruptly  to  a  walk  with  the  altera 
tions  of  mood  in  the  girl's  heart,  the  pauses  that  marked 
a  moment  of  meditation  as  she  watched  some  green 
curving  bank,  or  a  plunge  of  the  mad  little  creek  that 
sent  a  glory  of  spray  whitely  into  the  sunlight.  It 
grew  late  and  the  shadows  of  waning  afternoon  crept 
through  the  park.  The  crowd  had  hurried  home  to 
escape  the  chill  of  the  spring  dusk,  but  she  lingered  on, 
reluctant  to  leave,  and  presently  left  her  horse  with  the 
groom  that  she  might  walk  alone  beside  the  creek  in  a 
place  that  was  beautifully  wild.  About  her  lay  a  narrow 
strip  of  young  maples  and  beyond  this  the  wide  park 
road  wound  at  the  foot  of  a  steep  wooded  cliff.  The 
place  was  perfectly  quiet  save  for  the  splash  and  babble 
of  the  creek. 


"THIS    IS   AMERICA,   MR.    ARMITAGE'*    127 

Several  minutes  passed.  Once  she  heard  her  groom 
speak  to  the  horses,  though  she  could  not  see  him,  but 
the  charm  of  the  place  held  her.  She  raised  her  eyes 
from  the  tumbling  water  before  her  and  looked  off 
through  the  maple  tangle.  Then  she  drew  back  quickly, 
and  clasped  her  riding-crop  tightly.  Some  one  had 
paused  at  the  farther  edge  of  the  maple  brake  and  dis 
mounted,  as  she  had,  for  a  more  intimate  enjoyment  of 
the  place.  It  was  John  Armitage,  tapping  his  riding- 
boot  idly  with  his  crop  as  he  leaned  against  a  tree  and 
viewed  the  miniature  valley. 

He  was  a  little  below  her,  so  that  she  saw  him  quite 
distinctly,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  horse  pawing, 
with  arched  neck,  in  the  bridle-path  behind  him.  She 
had  no  wish  to  meet  him  there  and  turned  to  steal  back 
to  her  horse  when  a  movement  in  the  maples  below 
caught  her  eye.  She  paused,  fascinated  and  alarmed 
by  the  cautious  stir  of  the  undergrowth.  The  air  was 
perfectly  quiet;  the  disturbance  was  not  caused  by 
the  wind.  Then  the  head  and  shoulders  of  a  man  were 
disclosed  as  he  crouched  on  hands  and  knees,  watching 
Armitage.  His  small  head  and  big  body  as  he  crept 
forward  suggested  to  Shirley  some  fantastic  monster  of 
legend,  and  her  heart  beat  fast  with  terror  as  a  knife 


128         THE    PORT   OF   MISSING   MEN 

flashed  in  his  hand.  He  moved  more  rapidly  toward  the 
silent  figure  by  the  tree,  and  still  Shirley  watched  wide- 
eyed,  her  figure  tense  and  trembling,  the  hand  that  held 
the  crop  half  raised  to  her  lips,  while  the  dark  form 
rose  and  poised  for  a  spring. 

Then  she  cried  out,  her  voice  ringing  clear  and  high 
across  the  little  vale  and  sounding  back  from  the  cliff. 

"Oh !  Oh  I"  and  Armitage  leaped  forward  and  turned. 
His  crop  fell  first  upon  the  raised  hand,  knocking  the 
knife  far  into  the  trees,  then  upon  the  face  and  shoul 
ders  of  the  Servian.  The  fellow  turned  and  fled  through 
the  maple  tangle,  Armitage  after  him,  and  Shirley  ran 
back  toward  the  bridge  where  she  had  left  her  groom 
and  met  him  half-way  hurrying  toward  her. 

"What  is  it,  Miss?  Did  you  call?" 

"No;  it  was  nothing,  Thomas — nothing  at  all,"  and 
she  mounted  and  turned  toward  home. 

Her  heart  was  still  pounding  with  excitement  and 
she  walked  her  horse  to  gain  composure.  Twice,  in 
circumstances  most  unusual  and  disquieting,  she  had 
witnessed  an  attack  on  John  Armitage  by  an  unknown 
enemy.  She  recalled  now  a  certain  pathos  of  his  figure 
as  she  first  saw  him  leaning  against  the  tree  watching 
the  turbulent  little  stream,  and  she  was  impatient  to 


"THIS    IS   AMERICA,  MR.  ARMITAGE"  129 

find  how  her  sympathy  went  out  to  him.  It  made  no 
difference  who  John  Armitage  was ;  his  enemy  was  a 
coward,  and  the  horror  of  such  a  menace  to  a  man's  life 
appalled  her.  She  passed  a  mounted  policeman,  who 
recognized  her  and  raised  his  hand  in  salute,  but  the  idea 
of  reporting  the  strange  affair  in  the  strip  of  woodland 
occurred  to  her  only  to  be  dismissed.  She  felt  that 
here  was  an  ugly  business  that  was  not  within  the  grasp 
of  a  park  policeman,  and,  moreover,  John  Armitage 
was  entitled  to  pursue  his  own  course  in  matters  that 
touched  his  life  so  closely.  The  thought  of  him  reas 
sured  her ;  he  was  no  simple  boy  to  suffer  such  attacks 
to  pass  unchallenged ;  and  so,  dismissing  him,  she  raised 
her  head  and  saw  him  gallop  forth  from  a  by-path 
and  rein  his  horse  beside  her. 

"MissClaiborne!" 

The  suppressed  feeling  in  his  tone  made  the  mo 
ment  tense  and  she  saw  that  his  lips  trembled.  It  was 
a  situation  that  must  have  its  quick  relief,  so  she  said 
instantly,  in  a  mockery  of  his  own  tone : 

"Mr.  Armitage!"  She  laughed.  "I  am  almost 
caught  in  the  dark.  The  blandishments  of  spring  have 
beguiled  me. ' ' 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  quick  scrutiny.   It  did  not 


130         THE   PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN" 

seem  possible  that  this  could  be  the  girl  who  had  called 
to  him  in  warning  scarce  five  minutes  before;  but  he 
knew  it  had  been  she, — he  would  have  known  her  voice 
anywhere  in  the  world.  They  rode  silent  beside  the 
creek,  which  was  like  a  laughing  companion  seeking  to 
mock  them  into  a  cheerier  mood.  At  an  opening  through 
the  hills  they  saw  the  western  horizon  aglow  in  tints  of 
lemon  deepening  into  gold  and  purple.  Save  for  the 
riot  of  the  brook  the  world  was  at  peace.  She  met  his 
eyes  for  an  instant,  and  their  gravity,  and  the  firm  lines 
in  which  his  lips  were  set,  showed  that  the  shock  of  his 
encounter  had  not  yet  passed. 

"You  must  think  me  a  strange  person,  Miss  Clai- 
borne.  It  seems  inexplicable  that  a  man's  life  should 
be  so  menaced  in  a  place  like  this.  If  you  had  not  called 
to  me — " 

"Please  don't  speak  of  that !  It  was  so  terrible !" 

"But  I  must  speak  of  it!  Once  before  the  same  at 
tempt  was  made — that  night  on  the  King  Edward." 

"Yes ;  I  have  not  forgotten." 

"And  to-day  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  the  same 
man  watched  his  chance,  for  I  have  ridden  here  every 
day  since  I  came,  and  he  must  have  kept  track  of  me." 

"But  this  is  America,  Mr.  Armitage !" 


"THIS   IS   AMERICA,   MR.    ARMITAGE"    131 

t 
"That  does  not  help  ine  with  you.    You  have  every 

reason  to  resent  my  bringing  you  into  such  dangers, — 
it  is  unpardonable — indefensible !" 

She  saw  that  he  was  greatly  troubled. 

"But  you  couldn't  help  my  being  in  the  park  to-day ! 
I  have  often  stopped  just  there  before.  It's  a  favorite 
place  for  meditations.  If  you  know  the  man — " 

"I  know  the  man." 

"Then  the  law  will  certainly  protect  you,  as  you 
know  very  well.  He  was  a  dreadful-looking  person.  The 
police  can  undoubtedly  find  and  lock  him  up." 

She  was  seeking  to  minimize  the  matter, — to  pass  it 
off  as  a  commonplace  affair  of  every  day.  They  were 
walking  their  horses;  the  groom  followed  stolidly  be 
hind. 

Armitage  was  silent,  a  look  of  great  perplexity  cm  his 
face.  When  he  spoke  he  was  quite  calm. 

"Miss  Claiborne,  I  must  tell  you  that  this  is  an  affair 
in  which  I  ean't  ask  help  in  the  usual  channels.  You 
will  pardon  me  if  I  seem  to  make  a  mystery  of  what 
should  be  ordinarily  a  bit  of  business  between  myself 
and  the  police;  but  to  give  publicity  to  these  attempts 
to  injure  me  just  now  would  be  a  mistake.  I  could  have 
caught  that  man  there  in  the  wood ;  but  I  let  him  go, 


132        THE   PORT   OF  MISSING   MEN 

for  the  reason — for  the  reason  that  I  want  the  men  back 
of  him  to  show  themselves  before  I  act.  But  if  it  isn't 
presuming — " 

He  was  quite  himself  again.  His  voice  was  steady  and 
deep  with  the  ease  and  assurance  that  she  liked  in  him. 
She  had  marked  to-day  in  his  earnestness,  more  than  at 
any  other  time,  a  slight,  an  almost  indistinguishable 
trace  of  another  tongue  in  his  English. 

"How  am  I  to  know  whether  it  would  be  presuming?" 
she  asked. 

"But  I  was  going  to  say — " 

"When  rudely  interrupted !"  She  was  trying  to  make 
it  easy  for  him  to  say  whatever  he  wished. 

" — that  these  troubles  of  mine  are  really  personal. 
I  have  committed  no  crime  and  am  not  fleeing  from  jus 
tice." 

She  laughed  and  urged  her  horse  into  a  gallop  for  a 
last  stretch  of  road  near  the  park  limits. 

"How  uninteresting!  We  expect  a  Montana  ranch 
man  to  have  a  spectacular  past." 

"But  not  to  carry  it,  I  hope,  to  Washington.  On  the 
range  I  might  become  a  lawless  bandit  in  the  interest 
of  picturesqueness ;  but  here—" 


"THIS   IS   AMERICA,   MR.   ABMITAGE" 

"Here  in  the  world  of  frock-coated  statesmen  nothing- 
really  interesting  is  to  be  expected." 

She  walked  her  horse  again.  It  occurred  to  her  that 
*\e  might  wish  an  assurance  of  silence  from  her.  What 
fehe  had  seen  would  make  a  capital  bit  of  gossip,  to  say 
nothing  of  being  material  for  the  newspapers,  and  her 
conscience,  as  she  reflected,  grew  uneasy  at  the  thought 
of  shielding  him.  She  knew  that  her  father  and  mother, 
and,  even  more  strictly,  her  brother,  would  close  their 
doors  on  a  man  whose  enemies  followed  him  over  seas 
and  lay  in  wait  for  him  in  a  peaceful  park;  but  here 
she  tested  him.  A  man  of  breeding  would  not  ask  pro 
tection  of  a  woman  on  whom  he  had  no  claim,  and  it 
was  certainly  not  for  her  to  establish  an  understanding 
with  him  in  so  strange  and  grave  a  matter. 

"It  must  be  fun  having  a  ranch  with  cattle  on  a 
thousand  hills.  I  always  wished  my  father  would  go  in 
for  a  western  place,  but  he  can't  travel  so  far  from  home. 
Our  ranch  is  in  Virginia/' 

'TTou  have  a  Virginia  farm?  That  is  very  interest 
ing." 

"Yes;  at  Storm  Springs.  It's  really  beautiful  down 
there,"  she  said  simply. 

It  was  on  his  tongue  to  tell  her  that  he,  too,  owned  a 


134         THE   POET   OF   MISSING   MEN 

bit  of  Virginia  soil,  but  he  had  just  established  himself 
as  a  Montana  ranchman,  and  it  seemed  best  not  to  mul 
tiply  his  places  of  residence.  He  had,  moreover,  forgot 
ten  the  name  of  the  county  in  which  his  preserve  lay. 
He  said,  with  truth : 

"I  know  nothing  of  Virginia  or  the  South ;  but  I  have 
viewed  the  landscape  from  Arlington  and  some  day  I 
hope  to  go  adventuring  in  the  Virginia  hills," 

"Then  you  should  not  overlook  our  valley.  I  am  sure 
there  must  be  adventures  waiting  for  somebody  down 
there.  You  can  tell  our  place  by  the  spring  lamb  on 
the  hillside.  There's  a  huge  inn  that  offers  the  long 
distance  telephone  and  market  reports  and  golf  links 
and  very  good  horses,  and  lots  of  people  stop  there  as  a 
matter  of  course  in  their  flight  between  Florida  and 
Newport.  They  go  up  and  down  the  coast  like  the  mer 
cury  in  a  thermometer — up  when  it's  warm,  down  when 
it's  cold.  There's  the  secret  of  our  mercurial  tempera 
ment." 

A  passing  automobile  frightened  her  horse,  and  he 
watched  her  perfect  coolness  in  quieting  the  animal  with 
xein  and  voice. 

"He's  just  up  from  the  farm  and  doesn't  like  town 


"THIS   IS   AMERICA,   MR.   ARMITAGE"    135 

very  much.  But  he  shall  go  home  again  soon/'  she  said 
as  they  rode  on. 

"Oh,  you  go  down  to  shepherd  those  spring  lambs!" 
he  exclaimed,  with  misgiving  in  his  heart.  He  had  fol 
lowed  her  across  the  sea  and  now  she  was  about  to  take 
flight  again! 

"Yes;  and  to  escape  from  the  tiresome  business  of 
trying  to  remember  people's  names." 

"Then  you  reverse  the  usual  fashionable  process — 
you  go  south  to  meet  the  rising  mercury." 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  it,  but  that  is  so.  I  dearly  love 
a  hillside,  with  pines  and  cedars,  and  sloping  meadows 
with  sheep — and  rides  over  mountain  roads  to  the  gate 
of  dreams,  where  Spottswood's  golden  horseshoe  knights 
ride  out  at  you  with  a  grand  sweep  of  their  plumed  hats. 
Xow  what  have  you  to  say  to  that  ?" 

"Nothing,  but  my  entire  approval,"  he  said. 

He  dimly  understood,  as  he  left  her  in  this  gay  mood, 
at  the  Claiborne  house,  that  she  had  sought  to  make  him 
forget  the  lurking  figure  in  the  park  thicket  and  the 
dark  deed  thwarted  there.  It  was  her  way  of  conveying 
to  him  her  dismissal  of  the  incident,  and  it  implied  a 
greater  kindness  than  any  pledge  of  secrecy.  He  rode 
away  with  grave  eyes,  and  a  new  hope  filled  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  X 

JOHN  ARMITAGE  IS   SHADOWED 

Afoot  and  light-hearted  I  take  to  the  open  road, 
Healthy,  free,  the  world  before  me, 

The  long  brown  path  before  me  leading  wherever  I  choose. 

— Walt  Whitman. 

Armitage  dined  alone  that  evening  and  left  the  hotel 
at  nine  o'clock  for  a  walk.  He  unaffectedly  enjoyed 
paved  ground  and  the  sights  and  ways  of  cities,  and  he 
walked  aimlessly  about  the  lighted  thoroughfares  of  the 
capital  with  conscious  pleasure  in  the  movement  and 
color  of  life.  He  let  his  eyes  follow  the  Washington 
Monument's  gray  line  starward;  and  he  stopped  to  en 
joy  the  high-poised  equestrian  statue  of  Sherman,  to 
which  the  starry  dusk  gave  something  of  legendary  and 
Old  World  charm. 

Coming  out  upon  Pennsylvania  Avenue  he  strolled 
past  the  White  House,  and,  at  the  wide-flung  gates, 
paused  while  a  carriage  swept  by  him  at  the  driveway. 
He  saw  within  the  grim  face  of  Baron  von  Marho?  and 

136 


unconsciously  lifted  his  hat,  though  the  Ambassador  was 
deep  in  thought  and  did  not  see  him.  Armitage  struck 
the  pavement  smartly  with  his  stick  as  he  walked  slowly 
on,  pondering;  but  he  was  conscious  a  moment  later 
that  some  one  was  loitering  persistently  in  his  wake. 
Armitage  was  at  once  on  the  alert  with  all  his  faculties 
sharpened.  He  turned  and  gradually  slackened  his  pace, 
and  the  person  behind  him  immediately  did  likewise. 

The  sensation  of  being  followed  is  at  first  annoying ; 
then  a  pleasant  zest  creeps  into  it,  and  in  Armitage's 
case  the  reaction  was  immediate.  He  was  even  amused 
to  reflect  that  the  shadow  had  chosen  for  his  exploit 
what  is  probably  the  most  conspicuous  and  the  best- 
guarded  spot  in  America.  It  was  not  yet  ten  o'clock, 
but  the  streets  were  comparatively  free  of  people. 
He  slackened  his  pace  gradually,  and  threw  open  his 
overcoat,  for  the  night  was  warm,  to  give  an  impression 
of  ease,  and  when  he  had  reached  the  somber  fagade  of 
the  Treasury  Building  he  paused  and  studied  it  in  the 
glare  of  the  electric  lights,  as  though  he  were  a  chance 
traveler  taking  a  preliminary  view  of  the  sights  of  the 
capital.  A  man  still  lingered  behind  him,  drawing 
nearer  now,  at  a  moment  when  they  had  the  sidewalk 
comparatively  free  to  themselves.  The  fellow  was  short, 


138        THE   POET   OF   MISSING   MEN 

but  of  soldierly  erectness,  and  even  in  his  loitering  pace 
lifted  his  feet  with  the  quick  precision  of  the  drilled 
man.  Armitage  walked  to  the  corner  of  Pennsylvania 
Avenue  and  Fifteenth  Street,  then  turned  and  retraced 
his  steps  slowly  past  the  Treasury  Building.  The  man 
who  had  been  following  faced  about  and  walked  slowly 
in  the  opposite  direction,  and  Armitage,  quickening  his 
own  pace,  amused  himself  by  dogging  the  fellow's  steps 
closely  for  twenty  yards,  then  passed  him. 

When  he  had  gained  the  advantage  of  a  few  feet, 
Armitage  stopped  suddenly  and  spoke  to  the  man  in 
the  casual  tone  he  might  have  used  in  addressing  a 
passing  acquaintance. 

"My  friend,"  he  said,  "there  are  two  policemen  across 
the  street ;  if  you  continue  to  follow  me  I  shall  call  their 
attention  to  you." 

"Pardon  me—" 

"You  are  watching  me ;  and  the  thing  won't  do." 

"Yes,  I'm  watching  you ;  but — " 

"But  the  thing  won't  do !   If  you  are  hired — " 

"Nein!  Nein!  You  do  me  a  wrong,  sir." 

"Then  if  you  are  not  hired  you  are  your  own  master, 
and  you  serve  yourself  ill  when  you  take  the  trouble  to 
follow  me.  Now  I'm  going  to  finish  my  walk,  and  I  beg 


JOHN   ARMITAGE   IS    SHADOWED      139 

) 

you  to  keep  out  of  my  way.  This  is  not  a  place  where 
liberties  may  be  infringed  with  impunity.  Good  even 
ing,  sir." 

Armitage  wheeled  about  sharply,  and  as  his  face  came 
into  the  full  light  of  the  street  lamps  the  stranger  stared 
at  him  intently. 

Armitage  was  fumbling  in  his  pocket  for  a  coin,  but 
this  impertinence  caused  him  to  change  his  mind.  Two 
policemen  were  walking  slowly  toward  them,  and  Armi 
tage,  annoyed  by  the  whole  incident,  walked  quickly 
away. 

He  was  not  wholly  at  ease  over  the  meeting.  The 
fact  that  Chauvenefc  had  so  promptly  put  a  spy  as  well 
as  the  Servian  assassin  on  his  trail  quickened  his  pulse 
with  anger  for  an  instant  and  then  sobered  him. 

He  continued  his  walk,  and  paused  presently  before 
an  array  of  books  in  a  shop  window.  Then  some  one 
stopped  at  his  side  and  he  looked  up  to  find  the  same 
man  he  had  accosted  at  the  Treasury  Building  lifting 
his  hat, — an  American  soldier's  campaign  hat.  The  fel 
low  was  an  extreme  blond,  with  a  smooth-shaven, 
weather-beaten  face,  blue  eyes  and  light  hair. 

"Pardon  me!  You  are  mistaken;  I  am  not  a  spy. 
But  it  is  wonderful ;  it  is  quite  wonderful — " 


140        THE   POET   OF   MISSING  MEN 

The  man's  face  was  alight  with  discovery,  with  an 
alert  pleasure  that  awaited  recognition. 

"My  dear  fellow,  you  really  become  annoying,"  and 
Armitage  again  thrust  his  hand  into  his  trousers  pocket. 
"I  should  hate  awfully  to  appeal  to  the  police ;  hut  you 
must  not  crowd  me  too  far." 

The  man  seemed  moved  by  deep  feeling,  and  his  eyes 
were  bright  with  excitement.  His  hands  clasped  tightly 
the  railing  that  protected  the  glass  window  of  the  book 
shop.  As  Armitage  turned  away  impatiently  the  man 
ejaculated  huskily,  as  though  some  over-mastering  in 
fluence  wrung  the  words  from  him : 

"Don't  you  know  me  ?  I  am  Oscar— don't  you  remem 
ber  me,  and  the  great  forest,  where  I  taught  you  to  shoot 
and  fish  ?  You  are — " 

He  bent  toward  Armitage  with  a  fierce  insistence,  his 
eyes  blazing  in  his  eagerness  to  be  understood. 

John  Armitage  turned  again  to  the  window,  leaned 
lightly  upon  the  iron  railing  and  studied  the  title  of  a 
book  attentively.  He  was  silently  absorbed  for  a  full 
jninute,  in  which  the  man  who  had  followed  him  waited. 
Taking  his  cue  from  Armitage's  manner  he  appeared  to 
be  deeply  interested  in  the  bookseller's  display;  but  the 
excitement  still  glittered  in  his  eyes. 


JOHN   AEMITAGE   IS    SHADOWED      141 

Armitage  was  thinking  swiftly,  and  his  thoughts 
covered  a  very  wide  range  of  time  and  place  as  he  stood 
there.  Then  he  spoke  very  deliberately  and  coolly,  but 
with  a  certain  peremptory  sharpness. 

"Go  ahead  of  me  to  the  New  American  and  wait  in 
the  office  until  I  come." 

The  man's  hand  went  to  his  hat. 

"None  of  that!" 

Armitage  arrested  him  with  a  gesture.  "My  name  is 
Armitage, — John  Armitage,"  he  said.  "I  advise  you  to 
remember  it.  Now  go !" 

The  man  hurried  away,  and  Armitage  slowly  fol 
lowed. 

It  occurred  to  him  that  the  man  might  be  of  use,  and 
with  this  in  mind  he  returned  to  the  New  American,  got 
his  key  from  the  office,  nodded  to  his  acquaintance  of 
the  street  and  led  the  way  to  the  elevator. 

Armitage  put  aside  his  coat  and  hat,  locked  the  hall 
door,  and  then,  when  the  two  stood  face  to  face  in  his 
little  sitting-room,  he  surveyed  the  man  carefully. 

"What  do  you  want  ?"  he  demanded  bluntly. 

He  took  a  cigarette  from  a  box  on  the  table,  lighted 
it,  and  then,  with  an  air  of  finality,  fixed  his  gaze  upon 
the  man,  who  eyed  him  with  a  kind  of  stupefied  won- 


143         THE   PORT   OF   MISSING   MEN 

der.  Then  there  flashed  into  the  fellow's  bronzed  face 
something  of  dignity  and  resentment.  He  stood  per 
fectly  erect  with  his  felt  hat  clasped  in  his  hand.  His 
clothes  were  cheap,  hut  clean,  and  his  short  coat  was 
buttoned  trimly  about  him. 

"I  want  nothing,  Mr.  Armitage,"  he  replied  humbly, 
speaking  slowly  and  with  a  marked  German  accent. 

"Then  you  will  be  easily  satisfied/'  said  Armitage. 
"You  said  your  name  was —  ?" 

"Oscar — Oscar  Breunig." 

Armitage  sat  down  and  scrutinized  the  man  again 
without  relaxing  his  severity. 

"You  think  you  have  seen  me  somewhere,  so  you 
have  followed  me  in  the  streets  to  make  sure.  When  did 
this  idea  first  occur  to  you  ?" 

"I  saw  you  at  Fort  Myer  at  the  drill  last  Friday.  I 
have  been  looking  for  you  since,  and  saw  you  leave  your 
horse  at  the  hotel  this  afternoon.  You  ride  at  Rock 
Creek — yes  ?" 

"What  do  you  do  for  a  living,  Mr.  Breunig?"  asked 
Armitage. 

"I  was  in  the  army,  but  served  out  my  time  and  was 
discharged  a  few  months  ago  and  came  to  Washington 
to  see  where  they  make  the  government — yes?  I  am 


JOHN    ARMITAGE    IS    SHADOWED      143 

going  to  South  America.    Is  it  Peru?   Yes;  there  will 

be  a  revolution." 

<f 
He  paused,  and  Armitage  met  his  eyes;  they  were 

very  blue  and  kind, — eyes  that  spoke  of  sincerity  and 
fidelity,  such  eyes  as  a  leader  of  forlorn  hopes  would 
like  to  know  were  behind  him  when  he  gave  the  order 
to  charge.  Then  a  curious  thing  happened.  It  may  have 
been  the  contact  of  eye  with  eye  that  awoke  question  and 
response  between  them ;  it  may  have  been  a  need  in  one 
that  touched  a  chord  of  helplessness  in  the  other;  but 
suddenly  Armitage  leaped  to  his  feet  and  grasped  the 
outstretched  hands  of  the  little  soldier. 

"Oscar I"  he  said;  and  repeated,  very  softly,  "Os 
car!" 

The  man  was  deeply  moved  and  the  tears  sprang  into 
his  eyes.  Armitage  laughed,  holding  him  at  arm's 
length. 

"None  of  that  nonsense!  Sit  down!"  He  turned  to 
the  door,  opened  it,  and  peered  into  the  hall,  locked  the 
door  again,  then  motioned  the  man  to  a  chair. 

"So  you  deserted  your  mother  country,  did  you,  and 
have  borne  arms  for  the  glorious  republic  ?" 

"I  served  in  the  Philippines, — yes  ?" 

"Hank,  titles,  emoluments,  Oscar?" 


144        THE   POET   OF   MISSING   MEN 

"I  was  a  sergeant ;  and  the  surgeon  could  not  find  the 
bullet  after  Big  Bend,  Luzon;  so  they  were  sorry  and 
gave  me  a  certificate  and  two  dollars  a  month  to  my 
pay,"  said  the  man,  so  succinctly  and  colorlessly  that  Ar- 
mitage  laughed. 

"You  have  done  well,  Oscar ;  honor  me  by  accepting  a 
cigar." 

The  man  took  a  cigar  from  the  box  which  Armitage 
extended,  but  would  not  light  it.  He  held  it  rather  ab 
sent-mindedly  in  his  hand  and  continued  to  stare. 

"You  are  not  dead, — Mr. — Armitage;  but  your  fa 
ther—?" 

"My  father  is  dead,  Oscar." 

"He  was  a  good  man,"  said  the  soldier. 

"Yes ;  he  was  a  good  man,"  repeated  Armitage  grave 
ly.  "I  am  alive,  and  yet  I  am  dead,  Oscar ;  do  you  grasp 
the  idea  ?  You  were  a  good  friend  when  we  were  lads  to 
gether  in  the  great  forest.  If  I  should  want  you  to  help 
me  now — " 

The  man  jumped  to  his  feet  and  stood  at  attention  so 
gravely  that  Armitage  laughed  and  slapped  his  knee. 

"You  are  well  taught,  Sergeant  Oscar !  Sit  down.  I 
am  going  to  trust  you.  My  affairs  just  now  are  not  with 
out  their  trifling  dangers." 


JOHN"   ARMITAGE   IS   SHADOWED      145 

"There  are  enemies — yes?"  and  Oscar  nodded  his 
head  solemnly  in  acceptance  of  the  situation. 

"I  am  going  to  trust  you  absolutely.  You  have  no  con 
fidants — you  are  not  married  ?" 

"How  should  a  man  be  married  who  is  a  soldier?  I 
have  no  friends ;  they  are  unprofitable,"  declared  Oscar 
solemnly. 

"I  fear  you  are  a  pessimist,  Oscar;  but  a  pessimist 
who  keeps  his  mouth  shut  is  a  good  ally.  Now,  if  you 
are  not  afraid  of  being  shot  or  struck  with  a  knife,  and 
if  you  are  willing  to  obey  my  orders  for  a  few  weeks  we 
may  be  able  to  do  some  business.  First,  remember  that 
I  am  Mr.  Armitage ;  you  must  learn  that  now,  and  re 
member  it  for  all  time.  And  if  any  one  should  ever  sug 
gest  anything  else — " 

The  ruan  nodded  his  comprehension. 

"That  will  be  the  time  for  Oscar  to  be  dumb.  I  under 
stand,  Mr.  Armitage." 

Armitage  smiled.  The  man  presented  so  vigorous  a 
picture  of  health,  his  simple  character  was  so  transpar 
ently  reflected  in  his  eyes  and  face  that  he  did  not  in 
the  least  question  him. 

K4You  are  an  intelligent  person,  Sergeant.   If  you  are 


146         THE   POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

equally  discreet — able  to  be  deaf  when  troublesome  ques 
tions  are  asked,  then  I  think  we  shall  get  on." 
"You  should  remember — "  began  Oscar. 
"I  remember  nothing/'  observed  Armitage  sharply; 
and  Oscar  was  quite  humble  again.    Armitage  opened 
a  trunk  and  took  out  an  envelope  from  which  he  drew 
several  papers  and  a  small  map,  which  he  unfolded  and 
spread  on  the  table.   He  marked  a  spot  with  his  lead- 
pencil  and  passed  the  map  to  Oscar. 

"Do  you  think  you  could  find  that  place  ?" 
The  man  breathed  hard  over  it  for  several  minutes, 
"Yes ;  it  would  be  easy,"  and  he  nodded  his  head  sev 
eral  times  as  he  named  the  railroad  stations  nearest  the 
point  indicated  by  Armitage.  The  place  was  in  one  of 
the  mountainous  counties  of  Virginia,  fifteen  miles  from 
an  east  and  west  railway  line.  Armitage  opened  a  duly 
recorded  deed  which  conveyed  to  himself  the  title  to  two 
thousand  acres  of  land ;  also  a  curiously  complicated  ab 
stract  of  title  showing  the  successive  transfers  of  own 
ership  from  colonial  days  down  through  the  years  of 
Virginia's  splendor  to  the  dread  time  when  battle  shook 
the  world.  The  title  had  passed  from  the  receiver  of  p. 
defunct  shooting-club  to  Armitage,  who  had  been 
charmed  by  the  description  of  the  property  as  set  forth 


JOHX    AKMITAGE    IS    SHADOWED      147 

f 

in  an  advertisement,  and  lured,  moreover,  by  the  amaz 
ingly  small  price  at  which  the  preserve  was  offered. 

"It  is  a  farm — yes  ?" 

"It  is  a  wilderness,  I  fancy,"  said  Armitage.  "I  have 
never  seen  it;  I  may  never  see  it,  for  that  matter;  but 
you  will  find  your  way  there — going  first  to  this  town, 
Lamar,  studying  the  country,  keeping  your  mouth  shut, 
and  seeing  what  the  improvements  on  the  ground 
amount  to.  There's  some  sort  of  a  bungalow  there,  built 
by  the  shooting-club.  Here's  a  description  of  the  place, 
on  the  strength  of  which  I  bought  it.  You  may  take 
these  papers  along  to  judge  the  size  of  the  swindle." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  a  couple  of  good  horses ;  plenty  of  commissary 
stores — plain  military  necessities,  you  understand — and 
some  bedding  should  be  provided.  I  want  you  to  take 
full  charge  of  this  matter  and  get  to  work  as  quickly  as 
possible.  It  may  be  a;  trifle  lonesome  down  there  among 
the  hills,  but  if  you  serve  me  well  you  shall  not  regret 
it." 

"Yes,  I  am  quite  satisfied  with  the  job,"  said  Oscar. 

"And  after  you  have  reached  the  place  and  settled 
yourself  you  will  tell  the  postmaster  and  telegraph  oper 
ator  who  you  are  and  where  you  may  be  found,  so  that 


148         THE   PORT   OF   MISSING   MEN 

messages  may  reach  you  promptly.  If  you  get  an  un 
signed  message  advising  you  of — let  me  consider — a 
shipment  of  steers,  you  may  expect  me  any  hour.  On 
the  other  hand,  you  may  not  see  me  at  all.  We'll  con 
sider  that  our  agreement  lasts  until  the  first  snow  flies 
next  winter.  You  are  a  soldier.  There  need  be  no  fur 
ther  discussion  of  this  matter,  Oscar." 

The  man  nodded  gravely. 

"And  it  is  well  for  you  not  to  reappear  in  this  hotel. 
If  you  should  be  questioned  on  leaving  here — " 

"I  have  not  been  here — is  it  not  ?" 

"It  is,"  replied  Armitage,  smiling.  "You  read  and 
write  English?" 

"Yes;  one  must,  to  serve  in  the  army." 

"If  you  should  see  a  big  Servian  with  a  neck  like  a 
bull  and  a  head  the  size  of  a  pea,  who  speaks  very  bad 
German,  you  will  do  well  to  keep  out  of  his  way, — unless 
you  find  a  good  place  to  tie  him  up.  I  advise  you  not  to 
commit  murder  without  special  orders, — do  you  under 
stand?" 

"It  is  the  custom  of  the  country,"  assented  Oscar,  in 
a  tone  of  deep  regret. 

"To  be  sure,"  laughed  Armitage ;  "and  now  I  am  go- 


JOHN   AKMITAOE   IS    SHADOWED      149 

ing  to  give  you  money  enough  to  carry  out  the  project 
I  have  indicated." 

He  took  from  his  trunk  a  long  bill-book,  counted  out 
twenty  new  one-hundred-dollar  bills  and  threw  them  on 
the  table. 

"It  is  much  money,"  observed  Oscar,  counting  the 
bills  laboriously. 

"It  will  be  enough  for  your  purposes.  You  can't  spend 
much  money  up  there  if  you  try.  Bacon — perhaps  eggs ; 
a  cow  may  be  necessary, — who  can  tell  without  trying 
it  ?  Don't  write  me  any  letters  or  telegrams,  and  forget 
that  you.  have  seen  me  if  you  don't  hear  from  me  again." 

He  went  to  the  elevator  and  rode  down  to  the  office 
with  Oscar  and  dismissed  him  carelessly.  Then  John 
Armitage  bought  an  armful  of  magazines  and  newspa 
pers  and  returned  to  his  room,  quite  like  any  traveler 
taking  the  comforts  of  his  inn. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  TOSS   OF  A  NAPKIN 

As  music  and  splendor 

Survive  not  the  lamp  and  the  lute, 
The  heart's  echoes  render 

No  song  when  the  spirit  is  mute — 
No  songs  but  sad  dirges, 

Like  the  wind  through  a  ruined  cell, 
Or  the  mournful  surges 

That  ring  the  dead  seaman's  knell. 

— Shelley. 

Captain  Richard  Claiborne  gave  a  supper  at  the  Army 
and  Navy  Club  for  ten  men  in  honor  of  the  newly-ar 
rived  military  attache  of  the  Spanish  legation.  He  had 
drawn  his  guests  largely  from  his  foreign  acquaintances 
in  Washington  because  the  Spaniard  spoke  little  Eng 
lish  ;  and  Dick  knew  Washington  well  enough  to  under 
stand  that  while  a  girl  and  a  man  who  speak  different 
languages  may  sit  comfortably  together  at  table,  men  in 
like  predicament  grow  morose  and  are  likely  to  quarrel 

150 


THE    TOSS    OF   A   NAPKIN  151 

with  their  eyes  before  the  cigars  are  passed.  It  was 
Friday,  and  the  whole  party  had  witnessed  the  drill  at 
Fort  Myer  that  afternoon,  with  nine  girls  to  listen  to 
their  explanation  of  the  manoeuvers  and  the  earliest 
spring  bride  for  chaperon.  Shirley  had  been  of  the 
party,  and  somewhat  the  heroine  of  it,  too,  for  it  was 
Dick  who  sat  on  his  horse  out  in  the  tanbark  with  the 
little  whistle  to  his  lips  and  manipulated  the  troop. 

"Here's  a  confusion  of  tongues;  I  may  need  you  to 
interpret,"  laughed  Dick,  indicating  a  chair  at  his  left ; 
and  when  Armitage  sat  down  he  faced  Chauvenet  across 
the  round  table. 

With  the  first  filling  of  glasses  it  was  found  that  every 
one  could  speak  French,  and  the  talk  went  forward 
spiritedly.  The  discussion  of  military  matters  naturally 
occupied  first  place,  and  all  were  anxious  to  steer  clear 
of  anything  that  might  be  offensive  to  the  Spaniard, 
who  had  lost  a  brother  at  San  Juan.  Claiborne  thought 
it  wisest  to  discuss  nations  that  were  not  represented  at 
the  table,  and  this  made  it  very  simple  for  all  to  unite 
in  rejecting  the  impertinent  claims  of  Japan  to  be 
reckoned  among  world  powers,  and  to  declare,  for  the 
benefit  of  the  Russian  attache,  that  Slav  and  Saxon  must 
ultimately  contend  for  the  earth's  dominion. 


152         THE   PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

Then  they  fell  to  talking  about  individuals,  chiefly 
men  in  the  public  eye;  and  as  the  Austro-Hungarian 
embassy  was  in  mourning  and  unrepresented  at  the 
table,  the  new  Emperor-king  was  discussed  with  con 
siderable  frankness. 

"He  has  not  old  Stroebel's  right  hand  to  hold  him 
up/'  remarked  a  young  German  officer. 

"Thereby  hangs  a  dark  tale,"  remarked  Claiborne. 
"Somebody  stuck  a  knife  into  Count  von  Stroebel  at  a 
singularly  inopportune  moment.  I  saw  him  in  Geneva 
two  days  before  he  was  assassinated,  and  he  was  very 
feeble  and  seemed  harassed.  It  gives  a  man  the  shudders 
to  think  of  what  might  happen  if  his  Majesty,  Charles 
Louis,  should  go  by  the  board.  His  only  child  died  a 
year  ago — after  him  his  cousin  Francis,  and  then  the 
deluge." 

"Bah!  Francis  is  not  as  dark  as  he's  painted.  He's 
the  most  lied-about  prince  in  Europe/'  remarked  Chau- 
venet.  "He  would  most  certainly  be  an  improvement  on 
Charles  Louis.  But  alas !  Charles  Louis  will  undoubt 
edly  live  on  forever,  like  his  lamented  father.  The  King 
is  dead :  long  live  the  King  I" 

"Nothing  can  happen,"  remarked  the  German  sadly. 
"I  have  lost  much  money  betting  on  upheavals  in  that 


THE   TOSS    OF   A   NAPKIN  153 

direction.  If  there  were  a  man  in  Hungary  it  would  be 
different;  but  riots  are  not  revolutions." 

"That  is  quite  true/'  said  Armitage  quietly. 

"But,"  observed  the  Spaniard,  "if  the  Archduke  Karl 
had  not  gone  out  of  his  head  and  died  in  two  or  three 
dozen  places,  so  that  no  one  is  sure  he  is  dead  at  all, 
things  at  Vienna  might  be  rather  more  interesting. 
Karl  took  a  son  with  him  into  exile.  Suppose  one  or  the 
other  of  them  should  reappear,  stir  up  strife  and  incite 
rebellion —  ?" 

"Such  speculations  are  quite  idle,"  commented  Chau- 
venet.  "There  is  no  doubt  whatever  that  Karl  is  dead, 
or  we  should  hear  of  him." 

"Of  course,"  said  the  German.  "If  he  were  not,  the 
death  of  the  old  Emperor  would  have  brought  him  to 
life  again/' 

"The  same  applies  to  the  boy  he  carried  away  with 
him — undoubtedly  dead — or  we  should  hear  of  him. 
Karl  disappeared  soon  after  his  son  Francis  was  born. 
It  was  said — " 

"A  pretty  tale  it  is !"  commented  the  German — "that 
the  child  wasn't  exactly  Karl's  own.  He  took  it  quite 
hard — went  away  to  hide  his  shame  in  exile,  taking  his 
son  Frederick  Augustus  with  him." 


154         THE   POET   OF   MISSING   MEN 

"He  was  surely  mad/'  remarked  Chauvenet,  sipping 
a  cordial.  "He  is  much  better  dead  and  out  of  the  way 
for  the  good  of  Austria.  Francis,  as  I  say,  is  a  good  fel 
low.  We  have  hunted  together,  and  I  know  him  well." 

They  fell  to  talking  about  the  lost  sons  of  royal 
houses — and  a  goodly  number  there  have  been,  even  in 
these  later  centuries — and  then  of  the  latest  marriages 
between  American  women  and  titled  foreigners.  Chau- 
venet  was  now  leading  the  conversation;  it  might  even 
have  seemed  to  a  critical  listener  that  he  was  guiding  it 
with  a  certain  intention. 

He  laughed  as  though  at  the  remembrance  of  some 
thing  amusing,  and  held  the  little  company  while  he 
bent  over  a  candle  to  light  a  cigar. 

"With  all  due  respect  to  our  American  host,  I  must 
say  that  a  title  in  America  goes  further  than  anywhere 
else  in  the  world.  I  was  at  Bar  Harbor  three  years  ago 
when  the  Baron  von  Kissel  devastated  that  region.  He 
made  sad  havoc  among  the  ladies  that  summer ;  the  rest 
of  us  simply  had  no  place  to  stand.  You  remember,  gen 
tlemen/' — and  Chauvenet  looked  slowly  around  the  lis 
tening  circle, — "that  the  unexpected  arrival  of  the  excel 
lent  Ambassador  of  Austria-Hungary  caused  the  Baron 
to  leave  Bar  Harbor  between  dark  and  daylight.  The 


THE    TOSS    OP   A   NAPKIN  155 

story  was  that  he  got  off  in  a  sail-boat ;  and  the  next  we 
heard  of  him  he  was  masquerading  under  some  title  in 
San  Francisco,  where  he  proved  to  be  a  dangerous  forger. 
You  all  remember  that  the  papers  were  full  of  his  per 
formances  for  a  while,  but  he  was  a  lucky  rascal,  and 
always  disappeared  at  the  proper  psychological  moment. 
He  had,  as  you  may  say,  the  cosmopolitan  accent,  and 
was  the  most  plausible  fellow  alive." 

Chauvenet  held  his  audience  well  in  hand,  for  nearly 
every  one  remembered  the  brilliant  exploits  of  the  fraud 
ulent  baron,  and  all  were  interested  in  what  promised 
to  be  some  new  information  about  him.  Armitage,  lis 
tening  intently  to  Chauvenet's  recital,  felt  his  blood 
quicken,  and  his  face  flushed  for  a  moment.  His  cigar 
ette  case  lay  upon  the  edge  of  the  table,  and  he  snapped 
it  shut  and  fingered  it  nervously  as  he  listened. 

"It's  my  experience,"  continued  Chauvenet,  "that  we 
never  meet  a  person  once  only — there's  always  a  second 
meeting  somewhere ;  and  I  was  not  at  all  surprised  when 
I  ran  upon  my  old  friend  the  baron  in  Germany  last 
fall." 

"At  his  old  tricks,  I  suppose,"  observed  some  one. 

"No ;  that  was  the  strangest  part  of  it.  He's  struck  a 
deeper  game — though  I'm  blessed  if  I  can  make  it  out — 


156         THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

he's  dropped  the  title  altogether,  and  now  calls  himself 
Mister — I've  forgotten  for  the  moment  the  rest  of  it, 
but  it  is  an  English  name.  He's  made  a  stake  somehow, 
and  travels  about  in  decent  comfort.  He  passes  now  as 
an  American — his  English  is  excellent — and  he  hints  at 
arge  American  interests." 

'  "He  probably  has  forged  securities  to  sell,"  com 
mented  the  German.  "I  know  those  fellows.  The  busi 
ness  is  best  done  quietly." 

"I  dare  say,"  returned  Chauvenet. 

"Of  course,  you  greeted  him  as  a  long-lost  friend,"  re 
marked  Claiborne  leadingly. 

"No;  I  wanted  to  make  sure  of  him;  and,  strangely 
enough,  he  assisted  me  in  a  very  curious  way." 

All  felt  that  they  were  now  to  hear  the  denouement 
of  the  story,  and  several  men  bent  forward  in  their 
absorption  with  their  elbows  on  the  table.  Chauvenet 
smiled  and  resumed,  with  a  little  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

"Well,  I  must  go  back  a  moment  to  say  that  the  man 
I  knew  at  Bar  Harbor  had  a  real  crest — the  ladies  to 
whom  he  wrote  notes  treasured  them,  I  dare  say,  be 
cause  of  the  pretty  insignium.  He  had  it  engraved  on 
his  cigarette  case,  a  bird  of  some  kind  tiptoeing  on  a 
helmet,  and  beneath  there  was  a  motto,  Fide  non  armis." 


THE   TOSS    OF   A   NAPKIN  157 

"The  devil!"  exclaimed  the  young  German.  "Why, 
that's  very  like — " 

"Very  like  the  device  of  the  Austrian.  Schomburgs. 
Well,  I  remembered  the  cigarette  case,  and  one  night 
at  a  concert — in  Berlin,  you  know — I  chanced  to  sit 
with  some  friends  at  a  table  quite  near  where  he  sat 
alone ;  I  had  my  eye  on  him,  trying  to  assure  myself  of 
his  identity,  when,  in  closing  his  cigarette  case,  it  fell 
almost  at  my  feet,  and  I  bumped  heads  with  a  waiter  as 
I  picked  it  up — I  wanted  to  make  sure — and  handed  it 
to  him,  the  imitation  baron." 

"That  was  your  chance  to  startle  him  a  trifle,  I 
should  say,"  remarked  the  German. 

"He  was  the  man,  beyond  doubt.  There  was  no  mis 
taking  the  cigarette  case.  What  I  said  was," — continued 
Chauvenet, —  "  'Allow  me,  Baron !' '; 

"Well  spoken  !"  exclaimed  the  Spanish  officer. 

"Not  so  well,  either,"  laughed  Chauvenet.  "He  had 
the  best  of  it — he's  a  clever  man,  I  am  obliged  to  ad 
mit  !  He  said — "  and  Chauvenet's  mirth  stifled  him  for 
a  moment. 

"Yes;  what  was  it?"  demanded  the  German  impa 
tiently. 


158         THE    PORT    OF    MISSING    MEN 

"He  said:  'Thank  you,  waiter!'  and  put  the  cigarette 
case  back  into  his  pocket !" 

They  all  laughed.  Then  Captain  Claiborne's  eyes  fell 
upon  the  table  and  rested  idly  on  John  Armitage's  cigar 
ette  case — on  the  smoothly-worn  gold  of  the  surface, 
on  the  snowy  falcon  and  the  silver  helmet  on  which  the 
bird  poised.  He  started  slightly,  then  tossed  his  napkin 
carelessly  on  the  table  so  that  it  covered  the  gold  trinket 
completely. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "if  we  are  going  to  show 
ourselves  at  the  Darlington  ball  we'll  have  to  run 
along." 

Below,  in  the  coat  room,  Claiborne  was  fastening  the 
frogs  of  his  military  overcoat  when  Armitage,  who  had 
waited  for  the  opportunity,  spoke  to  him. 

"That  story  is  a  lie,  Claiborne.  That  man  never  saw 
me  or  my  cigarette  case  in  Berlin ;  and  moreover,  I  was 
never  at  Bar  Harbor  in  my  life.  I  gave  you  some  ac 
count  of  myself  on  the  King  Edward — every  word  of  it 
is  true." 

•'TTou  should  face  him — you  must  have  it  out  with 
him !"  exclaimed  Claiborne,  and  Armitage  saw  the  con 
flict  and  uncertainty  in  the  officer's  eyes. 

"But  the  time  hasn't  come  for  that — " 


THE   TOSS    OF   A   NAPKIN  159 

"Then  if  there  is  something  between  you/' — began 
Claiborne,  the  doubt  now  clearly  dominant. 

"There  is  undoubtedly  a  great  deal  between  us,  and 
there  will  be  more  before  we  reach  the  end." 

Dick  Claiborne  was  a  perfectly  frank,  outspoken  fel 
low,  and  this  hint  of  mystery  by  a  man  whose  character 
had  just  been  boldly  assailed  angered  him. 

"Good  God,  man !  I  know  as  much  about  Chauvenet 
as  I  do  about  you.  This  thing  is  ugly,  as  you  must  see. 
I  don't  like  it,  I  tell  you !  You've  got  to  do  more  than 
deny  a  circumstantial  story  like  that  by  a  fellow  whose 
standing  here  is  as  good  as  yours!  If  you  don't  offer 
some  better  explanation  of  this  by  to-morrow  night  I 
shall  have  to  ask  you  to  cut  my  acquaintance — and  the 
acquaintance  of  my  family !" 

Armitage's  face  was  grave,  but  he  smiled  as  he  took 
his  hat  and  stick. 

"I  shall  not  be  able  to  satisfy  you  of  my  respectability 
by  to-morrow  night,  Captain  Claiborne.  My  own  affairs 
must  wait  on  larger  matters." 

"Then  you  need  never  take  the  trouble !" 

"In  my  own  time  you  shall  be  quite  fully  satisfied/* 
said  Armitage  quietly,  and  turned  away. 

He  was  not  among  the  others  of  the  Claiborne  party 


160         THE   POET   OF   MISSING   MEN 

when  they  got  into  their  carriages  to  go  to  the  ball.  He 
went,  in  fact,  to  the  telegraph  office  and  sent  a  message 
to  Oscar  Breunig,  Lamar,  Virginia,  giving  notice  of  a 
shipment  of  steers. 

Then  he  returned  to  the  New  American  and  packed 
his  belongings. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  CAMP  IN   THE  MOUNTAINS 

— Who  climbed  the  blue  Virginia  hills 

Against  embattled  foes; 
And  planted  there,  in  valleys  fair, 

The  lily  and  the  rose; 
"Whose  fragrance  lives  in  many  lands, 

Whose  beauty  stars  the  earth, 
And  lights  the  hearths  of  happy  homes 

With  loveliness  and  worth. 

— Francis  0.  TicTcnor. 

The  study  of  maps  and  time-tables  is  a  far  more  profit 
able  business  than  appears.  John  Armitage  possessed  a 
great  store  of  geographical  knowledge  as  interpreted  in 
such  literature.  He  could  tell  you,  without  leaving  his 
room,  and  probably  without  opening  his  trunk,  the 
quickest  way  out  of  Tokio,  or  St.  Petersburg,  or  Cal 
cutta,  or  Cinch  Tight,  Montana,  if  you  suddenly  re 
ceived  a  cablegram  calling  you  to  Vienna  or  Paris  or 
Washington  from  one  of  those  places. 

Such  being  the  case,  it  was  remarkable  that  he  should 
have  started  for  a  point  in  the  Virginia  hills  by  way  of 

161 


162         THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

Boston,  thence  to  Norfolk  by  coastwise  steamer,  and  on 
to  Lamar  by  lines  of  railroad  whose  schedules  would 
have  been  the  despair  of  unhardened  travelers.  He  had 
expressed  his  trunks  direct,  and  traveled  with  two  suit 
cases  and  an  umbrella.  His  journey,  since  his  boat 
swung  out  into  Massachusetts  Bay,  had  been  spent  in 
gloomy  speculations,  and  two  }roung  women  booked  for 
Baltimore  wrongly  attributed  his  reticence  and  aloof 
ness  to  a  grievous  disappointment  in  love. 

He  had  wanted  time  to  think — to  ponder  his  affairs — 
to  devise  some  way  out  of  his  difficulties,  and  to  con 
trive  the  defeat  of  Chauvenet.  Moreover,  his  relations 
to  the  Claibornes  were  in  an  ugly  tangle :  Chauvenet  had 
dealt  him  a  telling  blow  in  a  quarter  where  he  particu 
larly  wished  to  appear  to  advantage. 

He  jumped  out  of  the  day  coach  in  which  he  had  ac 
complished  the  last  stage  of  his  journey  to  Lamar,  just 
at  dawn,  and  found  Oscar  with  two  horses  waiting. 

"Good  morning,"  said  Oscar,  saluting. 

"You  are  prompt,  Sergeant/"'  and  Armitage  shook 
hands  with  him. 

As  the  train  roared  on  through  the  valley,  Armitage 
opened  one  of  the  suit-cases  and  took  out  a  pair  of  leather 
leggings,  which  he  strapped  on.  Then  Oscar  tied  the 


A    CAMP    IN    THE    MOUNTAINS         163 

cases  together  with  a  rope  and  hung  them  across  his 
saddle-bow. 

"The  place — what  of  it?"  asked  Armitage. 

"There  may  be  worse — I  have  not  decided/' 

Armitage  laughed  aloud. 

"Is  it  as  bad  as  that  ?" 

The  man  was  busy  tightening  the  saddle  girths,  and 
he  answered  Annitage's  further  questions  with  soldier 
like  brevity. 

"You  have  been  here — " 

"Two  weeks,  sir.'' 

"And  nothing  has  happened  ?  It  is  a  good  report/' 

"It  is  good  for  the  soul  to  stand  on  mountains  and 
look  at  the  world.  You  will  like  that  animal — yes  ?  He 
is  lighter  than  a  cavalry  horse.  Mine,  you  will  notice,  is 
a  trifle  heavier.  I  bought  them  at  a  stock  farm  in  an 
other  valley,  and  rode  them  up  to  the  place." 

The  train  sent  back  loud  echoes.  A  girl  in  a  pink  sun- 
bonnet  rode  up  on  a  mule  and  carried  off  the  mail 
pouch.  The  station  agent  was  busy  inside  at  his  tele 
graph  instruments  and  paid  no  heed  to  the  horsemen. 
Save  for  a  few  huts  clustered  on  the  hillside,  there  were 
:ao  signs  of  human  habitation  in  sight.  The  lights  in  a 
switch  target  showed  yellow  against  the  growing  dawn. 


164        THE   PORT   OF   MISSING   MEN 

"I  am  quite  ready,  sir/'  reported  Oscar,  touching  his 
hat.  "There  is  nothing  here  but  the  station ;  the  settle 
ment  is  farther  on  our  way." 

"Then  let  us  be  off/'  said  Armitage,  swinging  into 
the  saddle. 

Oscar  led  the  way  in  silence  along  a  narrow  road  that 
clung  close  to  the  base  of  a  great  pine-covered  hill.  The 
morning  was  sharp  and  the  horses  stepped  smartly,  the 
breath  of  their  nostrils  showing  white  on  the  air.  The 
far  roar  and  whistle  of  the  train  came  back  more  and 
more  faintly,  and  when  it  had  quite  ceased  Armitage 
sighed,  pushed  his  soft  felt  hat  from  his  face,  and  set 
tled  himself  more  firmly  in  his  saddle.  The  keen  air 
was  as  stimulating  as  wine,  and  he  put  his  horse  to  the 
gallop  and  rode  ahead  to  shake  up  his  blood. 

"It  is  good,"  said  the  stolid  cavalryman,  as  Armitage 
wheeled  again  into  line  with  him. 

"Yes,  it  is  good,"  repeated  Armitage. 

A  peace  descended  upon  him  that  he  had  not  known 
in  many  days.  The  light  grew  as  the  sun  rose  higher, 
blazing  upon  them  like  a  brazen  target  through  deep 
clefts  in  the  mountains.  The  morning  mists  retreated 
before  them  to  farther  ridges  and  peaks,  and  the  beauti 
ful  gray-blue  of  the  Virginia  hills  delighted  Armitage'e 


A    CAMP   IN   THE   MOUNTAINS        165 

eyes.  The  region  was  very  wild.  Here  and  there  from 
some  mountaineer's  cabin  a  light  penciling  of  smoke 
stole  upward.  They  once  passed  a  boy  driving  a  yoke  of 
steers.  After  several  miles  the  road,  that  had  hung 
midway  of  the  rough  hill,  dipped  down  sharply,  and 
they  came  out  into  another  and  broader  valley,  where 
there  were  tilled  farms,  and  a  little  settlement,  with  a 
blacksmith  shop  and  a  country  store,  post-office  and 
inn  combined.  The  storekeeper  stood  in  the  door,  smok 
ing  a  cob  pipe.  Seeing  Oscar,  he  went  inside  and 
brought  out  some  letters  and  newspapers,  which  he  de 
livered  in  silence. 

"This  is  Lamar  post-office,"  announced  Oscar. 

"There  must  be  some  mail  here  for  me,"  said  Anni- 
tage. 

Oscar  handed  him  several  long  envelopes — they  bore 
the  name  of  the  Bronx  Loan  and  Trust  Company,  whose 
office  in  New  York  was  his  permanent  address,  and  he 
opened  and  read  a  number  of  letters  and  cablegrams  that 
had  been  forwarded.  Their  contents  evidently  gave  him 
satisfaction,  for  he  whistled  cheerfully  as  he  thrust  them 
into  his  pocket. 

"You  keep  in  touch  with  the  world,  do  you,  Oscar? 
It  is  commendable." 


166         THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

"I  ta.ke  a  Washington  paper — it  relieves  the  monot 
ony,  and  I  can  see  where  the  regiments  are  moving,  and 
whether  my  old  captain  is  yet  out  of  the  hospital,  and 
what  happened  to  my  lieutenant  in  his  court-martial 
about  the  pay  accounts.  One  must  observe  the  world — 
yes  ?  At  the  post-office  back  there" — he  jerked  his  head 
to  indicate — "it  is  against  the  law  to  sell  whisky  in  a 
post-office,  so  that  storekeeper  with  the  red  nose  and 
small  yellow  eyes  keeps  it  in  a  brown  jug  in  the  back 
room." 

"To  be  sure,"  laughed  Armitage.  "I  hope  it  is  a  good 
article." 

"It  is  vile,"  replied  Oscar.  "His  brother  makes  it  up 
in  the  hills,  and  it  is  as  strong  as  wood  lye." 

"Moonshine !  I  have  heard  of  it.  We  must  have  some 
for  rainy  days." 

It  was  a  new  world  to  John  Armitage,  and  his  heart 
was  as  light  as  the  morning  air  as  he  followed  Oscar 
along  the  ruddy  mountain  road.  He  was  in  Virginia, 
and  somewhere  on  this  soil,  perhaps  in  some  valley  like 
the  one  through  which  he  rode,  Shirley  Claiborne  had 
gazed  upon  blue  distances,  with  ridge  rising  against 
ridge,  and  dark  pine-covered  slopes  like  these  fie  saw 
for  the  first  time.  He  had  left  his  affairs  in  Washing- 


A    CAMP   IN   THE    MOUNTAINS        167 

ton  in  a  sorry  muddle ;  but  he  faced  the  new  day  with  a 
buoyant  spirit,  and  did  not  trouble  himself  to  look  very 
far  ahead.  He  had  a  definite  business  before  him;  his 
cablegrams  were  reassuring  on  that  point.  The  fact  thai 
he  was,  in  a  sense,  a  fugitive  did  not  trouble  him  in  the 
least.  He  had  no  intention  of  allowing  Jules  Chauve- 
net's  assassins  to  kill  him,  or  of  being  locked  up  in  a 
"Washington  jail  as  the  false  Baron  von  Kissel.  If  he 
admitted  that  he  was  not  John  Armitage,  it  would  be 
difficult  to  prove  that  he  was  anybody  else — a  fact  touch 
ing  human  testimony  which  Jules  Chauvenet  probably 
knew  perfectly  well. 

On  the  whole  he  was  satisfied  that  he  had  followed 
the  wisest  course  thus  far.  The  broad  panorama  of  the 
morning  hills  communicated  to  his  spirit  a  growing  ela 
tion.  He  began  singing  in  German  a  ballad  that  recited 
the  sorrows  of  a  pale  maiden  prisoner  in  a  dark  tower 
on  the  Rhine,  whence  her  true  knight  rescued  her,  after 
many  and  fearsome  adventures.  On  the  last  stave  he' 
ceased  abruptly,  and  an  exclamation  of  wonder  broke 
from  him. 

They  had  been  riding  along  a  narrow  trail  that  af 
forded,  as  Oscar  said,  a  short  cut  across  a  long  timbered 
ridge  that  lay  between  them  and  Armitage's  property. 


168 

The  path  was  rough  and  steep,  and  the  low-hanging  pine 
boughs  and  heavy  underbrush  increased  the  difficulties 
of  ascent.  Straining  to  the  top,  a  new  valley,  hidden  un 
til  now,  was  disclosed  in  long  and  beautiful  vistas. 

Armitage  dropped  the  reins  upon  the  neck  of  his 
panting  horse. 

"It  is  a  fine  valley — yes  ?"  asked  Oscar. 

"It  is  a  possession  worthy  of  the  noblest  gods  I"  re 
plied  Armitage.  "There  is  a  white  building  with  colon 
nades  away  over  there — is  it  the  house  of  the  reigning 
deity?" 

"It  is  not,  sir/'  answered  Oscar,  who  spoke  English 
with  a  kind  of  dogged  precision,  giving  equal  value  to 
all  words.  "It  is  a  vast  hotel  where  the  rich  spend  much 
money.  That  place  at  the  foot  of  the  hills— do  you  see? 
— it  is  there  they  play  a  foolish  game  with  sticks  and 
little  balls—" 

"Golf?  Is  it  possible!" 

"There  is  no  doubt  of  it,  sir.  I  have  seen  the  fools  my 
self — men  and  women.  The  place  is  called  Storm  Val- 
ley." 

Armitage  slapped  his  thigh  sharply,  so  that  his  horse 
started. 

"Yes ;  you  are  probably  right,  Oscar.  I  have  heard  of 


the  place.  And  those  houses  that  lie  beyond  there  in  the 
valley  belong  to  gentlemen  of  taste  and  leisure  who 
drink  the  waters  and  ride  horses  and  play  the  foolish 
game  you  describe  with  little  white  balls." 

"I  could  not  tell  it  better,"  responded  Oscar,  who  had 
dismounted,  like  a  good  trooper,  to  rest  his  horse. 

"And  our  place — is  it  below  there  ?"  demanded  Armi- 
tage. 

"It  is  not,  sir.  It  lies  to  the  west.  But  a  man  may 
come  here  when  he  is  lonesome,  and  look  at  the  people 
and  the  gentlemen's  houses.  At  night  it  is  a  pleasure  to 
see  the  lights,  and  sometimes,  when  the  wind  is  right, 
there  is  music  of  bands." 

"Poor  Oscar !"  laughed  Armitage. 

His  mood  had  not  often  in  his  life  been  so  high. 

On  his  flight  northward  from  Washington  and  south 
ward  down  the  Atlantic  capes,  the  thought  that  Shirley 
Claiborne  and  her  family  must  now  believe  him  an 
ignoble  scoundrel  had  wrought  misgivings  and  pain  in 
his  heart ;  but  at  least  he  would  soon  be  near  her — even 
now  she  might  be  somewhere  below  in  the  lovely  valley, 
and  he  drew  off  his  hat  and  stared  down  upon  what  was 
glorified  and  enchanted  ground. 

"Let  us  go,"  he  said  presently. 


170         THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

Oscar  saluted,  standing  bridle  in  hand. 

"You  will  find  it  easier  to  walk,"  he  said,  and,  lead 
ing  their  horses,  they  retraced  their  steps  for  several 
hundred  yards  along  the  ridge,  then  mounted  and  pro 
ceeded  slowly  down  again  until  they  came  to  a  mountain 
road.  Presently  a  high  wire  fence  followed  at  their 
right,  where  the  descent  was  sharply  arrested,  and  they 
came  to  a  barred  wooden  gate,  and  beside  it  a  small 
cabin,  evidently  designed  for  a  lodge. 

"This  is  the  place,  sir,"  and  Oscar  dismounted  and 
threw  open  the  gate. 

The  road  within  followed  the  rough  contour  of  the 
hillside,  that  still  turned  downward  until  it  broadened 
into  a  wooded  plateau.  The  flutter  of  wings  in  the  un 
derbrush,  the  scamper  of  squirrels,  the  mad  lope  of  a 
fox,  kept  the  eye  busy.  A  deer  broke  out  of  a  hazel 
thicket,  stared  at  the  horsemen  in  wide-eyed  amazement, 
then  plunged  into  the  wood  and  disappeared. 

"There  are  deer,  and  of  foxes  a  great  plenty,"  re 
marked  Oscar. 

He  turned  toward  Armitage  and  added  with  lowered 
voice : 

"It  is  different  from  our  old  hills  and  forests — yes? 
but  sometimes  I  have  been  homesick." 


A    CAMP   IN   THE    MOUNTAINS        171 

"But  this  is  not  so  bad,  Oscar;  and  some  day  you 
shall  go  back !" 

"Here/'  said  the  soldier,  as  they  swuiig  out  of  the 
wood  and  into  the  open,  "is  what  they  call  the  Port  of 
Missing  Men." 

There  was  a  broad  park-like  area  that  tended  down 
ward  almost  imperceptibly  to  a  deep  defile.  They  dis 
mounted  and  walked  to  the  edge  and  looked  down  the 
steep  sides.  A  little  creek  flowed  out  of  the  wood  and 
emptied  itself  with  a  silvery  rush  into  the  vale,  caught 
its  breath  below,  and  became  a  creek  again.  A  slight 
suspension  bridge  flung  across  the  defile  had  once  af 
forded  a  short  cut  to  Storm  Springs,  but  it  was  now  in 
disrepair,  and  at  either  end  was  posted  "No  Thorough 
fare."  Armitage  stepped  upon  the  loose  planking  and 
felt  the  frail  thing  vibrate  under  his  weight. 

"It  is  a  bad  place,"  remarked  Oscar,  as  the  bridge 
creaked  and  swung,  and  Armitage  laughed  and  jumped 
back  to  solid  ground. 

The  surface  of  this  harbor  of  the  hills  was  rough  with 
outcropping  rock.  In  some  great  stress  of  nature  the 
trees  had  been  destroyed  utterly,  and  only  a  scant  growth 
of  weeds  and  wild  flowers  remained.  The  place  sug 
gested  a  battle-ground  for  the  winds,  where  they  might 


172         THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

meet  and  struggle  in  wild  combat ;  or  more  practically, 
it  was  large  enough  for  the  evolutions  of  a  squadron  of 
cavalry. 

"Why  the  name  ?"  asked  Armitage. 

"There  were  gray  soldiers  of  many  battles — yes? — ' 
who  fought  the  long  fight  against  the  blue  soldiers  in 
the  Valley  of  Virginia ;  and  after  the  war  was  over  some 
of  them  would  not  surrender — no;  but  they  marched 
here,  and  stayed  a  long  time,  and  kept  their  last  flag, 
and  so  the  place  was  called  the  Port  of  Missing  Men. 
They  built  that  stone  wall  over  there  beyond  the  patch 
of  cedars,  and  camped.  And  a  few  died,  and  their 
graves  are  there  by  the  cedars.  Yes;  they  had  brave 
hearts/'  and  Oscar  lifted  his  hat  as  though  he  were  salut 
ing  the  lost  legion. 

They  turned  again  to  the  road  and  went  forward  at 
a  gallop,  until,  half  a  mile  from  the  gate,  they  came 
upon  a  clearing  and  a  low,  red-roofed  bungalow. 

"Your  house,  sir,"  and  Oscar  swung  himself  down  at 
the  steps  of  a  broad  veranda.  He  led  the  horses  away  to 
a  barn  beyond  the  house,  while  Armitage  surveyed  the 
landscape.  The  bungalow  stood  on  a  rough  knoll,  and 
was  so  placed  as  to  afford  a  splendid  view  of  a  wide  re 
gion.  Armitage  traversed  the  long  veranda,  studying 


A   CAMP   IN   THE   MOUNTAINS        173 

the  landscape,  and  delighting  in  the  far-stretching  pine- 
covered  barricade  of  hills.  He  was  aroused  by  Oscar, 
who  appeared  carrying  the  suit-cases. 

"There  shall  be  breakfast/'  said  the  man. 

He  threw  open  the  doors  and  they  entered  a  wide,  bare 
hall,  with  a  fireplace,  into  which  Oscar  dropped  a  match.' 

"All  one  floor — plenty  of  sleeping-rooms,  sir — a  place 
to  eat  here — a  kitchen  beyond — a  fair  barracks  for  a 
common  soldier ;  that  is  all." 

"It  is  enough.  Throw  these  bags  into  the  nearest  bed 
room,  if  there  is  no  choice,  and  camp  will  be  established." 

"This  is  yours — the  baggage  that  came  by  express 
is  there.  A  wagon  goes  with  the  place,  and  I  brought 
the  things  up  yesterday.  There  is  a  shower-bath 
beyond  the  rear  veranda.  The  mountain  water  is  off 
the  ice,  but — you  will  require  hot  water  for  shaving — is 
i+  not  so?" 

"You  oppress  me  with  luxuries,  Oscar.  Wind  up  the 
clock,  and  nothing  will  be  wanting." 

Oscar  unstrapped  the  trunks  and  then  stood  at  at 
tention  in  the  door.  He  had  expected  Armitage  to  con 
demn  the  place  in  bitter  language,  but  the  proprietor  of 
the  abandoned  hunting  preserve  was  in  excellent  spirits, 
and  whistled  blithely  as  he  drew  out  his  keys. 


174         THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

"The  place  was  built  by  fools/'  declared  Oscar  gloom- 

fly- 

"Undoubtedly !  There  is  a  saying  that  fools  build 
houses  and  wise  men  live  in  them — you  see  where  that 
leaves  us,  Oscar.  Let  us  be  cheerful !" 

He  tried  the  shower  and  changed  his  raiment,  while 
Oscar  prepared  coffee  and  laid  a  cloth  on  the  long  table 
before  the  fire.  When  Armitage  appeared,  coffee  steamed 
in  the  tin  pot  in  which  it  had  been  made.  Bacon,  eggs 
and  toast  were  further  offered. 

"You  have  done  excellently  well,  Oscar.  Go  get  your 
own  breakfast."  Armitage  dropped  a  lump  of  sugar  into 
his  coffee  cup  and  surveyed  the  room. 

A  large  map  of  Virginia  and  a  series  of  hunting  prints 
hung  on  the  untinted  walls,  and  there  were  racks  for 
guns,  and  a  work-bench  at  one  end  of  the  room,  where 
guns  might  be  taken  apart  and  cleaned.  A  few  novels, 
several  three-year-old  magazines  and  a  variety  of  pipes 
remained  on  the  shelf  above  the  fireplace.  The  house 
offered  possibilities  of  meager  comfort,  and  that  was 
about  all.  Armitage  remembered  what  the  agent  through 
whom  he  had  made  the  purchase  had  said — that  the 
place  had  proved  too  isolated  for  even  a  hunting  pre 
serve,  and  that  its  only  value  was  in  the  timber.  He  was 


A    CAMP   IN   THE    MOUNTAINS        175 

satisfied  with  his  bargain,  and  would  not  set  up  a  lum 
ber  mill  yet  a  while.  He  lighted  a  cigar  and  settled  him 
self  in  an  easy  chair  before  the  fire,  glad  of  the  luxury 
of  peace  and  quiet  after  his  circuitous  journey  and  the 
tumult  of  doubt  and  question  that  had  shaken  him. 

He  slit  the  wrapper  of  the  Washington  newspaper 
that  Oscar  had  brought  from  the  mountain  post-office 
and  scanned  the  head-lines.  He  read  with  care  a  de 
spatch  from  London  that  purported  to  reflect  the  senti 
ment  of  the  continental  capitals  toward  Charles  Louis, 
the  new  Emperor-king  of  Austria-Hungary,  and  the 
paper  dropped  upon  his  knees  and  he  stared  into  the 
fire.  Then  he  picked  up  a  paper  of  earlier  date  and  read 
all  the  foreign  despatches  and  the  news  of  Washington. 
He  was  about  to  toss  the  paper  aside,  when  his  eyes  fell 
upon  a  boldly-headlined  article  that  caused  his  heart  to 
throb  fiercely.  It  recited  the  sudden  reappearance  of  the 
fraudulent  Baron  von  Kissel  in  Washington,  and  de 
scribed  in  detail  the  baron's  escapades  at  Bar  Harbor 
and  his  later  career  in  California  and  elsewhere.  Then 
followed  a  story,  veiled  in  careful  phrases,  but  based,  so 
the  article  recited,  upon  information  furnished  by  a 
gentleman  of  extensive  acquaintance  on  both  sides  of 
the  Atlantic,  that  Baron  von  Kissel,  under  a  new  pseu- 


176         THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   HEX 

donym,  and  with  even  more  daring  effrontery,  had  with 
in  a  fortnight  sought  to  intrench  himself  in  the  most  ex 
clusive  circles  of  Washington. 

Armitage's  cigar  slipped  from  his  fingers  and  fell 
upon  the  brick  hearth  as  he  read : 

"The  boldness  of  this  clever  adventurer  is  said  to  have 
reached  a  climax  in  this  city  within  a  few  days.  He  had, 
under  the  name  of  Armitage,  palmed  himself  off  upon 
members  of  one  of  the  most  distinguished  families  of 
the  capital,  whom  he  had  met  abroad  during  the  winter. 
A  young  gentleman  of  this  family,  who,  it  will  suffice  to 
say,  bears  a  commission  and  title  from  the  American 
government,  entertained  a  small  company  of  friends  at 
a  Washington  club  only  a  few  nights  ago,  and  this  plau 
sible  adventurer  was  among  the  guests.  He  was  recog 
nized  at  once  by  one  of  the  foreigners  present,  who,  out 
of  consideration  for  the  host  and  fellow  guests,  held  his 
tongue ;  but  it  is  understood  that  this  gentleman  sought 
Armitage  privately  and  warned  him  to  leave  Washing 
ton,  which  accounts  for  the  fact  that  the  sumptuous 
apartments  at  the  New  American  in  which  Mr.  John  Ar 
mitage,  alias  Baron  von  Kissel,  had  established  himself 
were  vacated  immediately.  None  of  those  present  at  the 
supper  will  talk  of  the  matter,  but  it  has  been  the  sub 
ject  of  lively  gossip  for  several  days,  and  the  German 
embassy  is  said  to  have  laid  before  the  Washington  po- 


A    CAMP   IN"   THE    MOUNTAINS        177 

lice  all  the  information  in  its  archives  relating  to  the 
American  adventures  of  this  impudent  scoundrel." 

Armitage  rose,  dropped  the  paper  into  the  fire,  and, 
with  his  elbow  resting  on  the  mantel-shelf,  watched  it 
burn.  He  laughed  suddenly  and  faced  about,  his  back 
to  the  flames.  Oscar  stood  at  attention  in  the  middle  of 
the  room. 

"Shall  we  unpack — yes  ?" 

"It  is  a  capital  idea,"  said  John  Armitage. 

"I  was  striker  for  my  captain  also,  who  had  fourteen 
pairs  of  boots  and  a  bad  disposition — and  his  uniforms 
— yes  ?  He  was  very  pretty  to  look  at  on  a  horse/' 

"The  ideal  is  high,  Oscar,  but  I  shall  do  my  best. 
That  one  first,  please." 

The  contents  of  the  two  trunks  were  disposed  of  deftly 
by  Oscar  as  Armitage  directed.  One  of  the  bedrooms  was 
utilized  as  a  closet,  and  garments  for  every  imaginable 
occasion  were  brought  forth.  There  were  stout  English 
tweeds  for  the  heaviest  weather,  two  dress  suits,  and 
Norfolk  jackets  in  corduroy.  The  owner's  taste  ran  to 
grays  and  browns,  it  seemed,  and  he  whimsically  or 
dered  his  raiment  grouped  by  colors  as  ha  lounged  about 
with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth. 


178         THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

"You  may  hang  those  scarfs  on  the  string  provided 
by  my  predecessor,  Sergeant.  They  will  help  our  color 
scheme.  That  pale  blue  doesn't  blend  well  in  our  rain 
bow — put  it  in  your  pocket  and  wear  it,  with  my  com 
pliments;  and  those  tan  shoes  are  not  bad  for  the  Vir 
ginia  mud — drop  them  here.  Those  gray  campaign  hats 
are  comfortable — give  the  oldest  to  me.  And  there  is  a 
riding-cloak  I  had  forgotten  I  ever  owned — I  gave  gold 
for  it  to  a  Madrid  tailor.  The  mountain  nights  are  cool, 
and  the  thing  may  serve  me  well,"  he  added  whimsically. 

He  clapped  on  the  hat  and  flung  the  cloak  upon  his 
shoulders.  It  fell  to  his  heels,  and  he  gathered  it  to 
gether  with  one  hand  at  the  waist  and  strutted  out  into 
the  hall,  whither  Oscar  followed,  staring,  as  Armitage 
began  to  declaim : 

"  'Gire  me  my  robe ;  put  on  my  crown ;  I  have 
Immortal  longings  in  me!' 

"  'Tis  an  inky  cloak,  as  dark  as  Hamlet's  mind ;  I  will 
go  forth  upon  a  bloody  business,  and  who  hinders  me 
shall  know  the  bitter  taste  of  death.  Oscar,  by  the  faith 
of  my  body,  you  shall  be  the  Horatio  of  the  tragedy.  Set 
me  right  afore  the  world  if  treason  be  my  undoing,  and 
while  we  await  the  trumpets,  cast  that  silly  pair  of 


A    CAMP   IN   THE    MOUNTAINS        179 

trousers  as  rubbish  to  the  void,  and  choose  of  mine  own 
raiment  as  thou  wouldst,  knave !  And  now — 

— "  'Nothing  can  we  call  our  own  but  death, 
And  that  small  model  of  the  barren  earth 
Which  serves  as  paste  and  cover  to  our  bones. 
For  God's  sake,  let  us  sit  upon  the  ground 
And  tell  sad  stories  of  the  death  of  kings.'  " 

Then  he  grew  serious,  tossed  the  cloak  and  hat  upon 
a  bench  that  ran  round  the  room,  and  refilled  and 
lighted  his  pipe.  Oscar,  soberly  unpacking,  saw  Armi- 
tage  pace  the  hall  floor  for  an  hour,  deep  in  thought. 

"Oscar,"  he  called  abruptly,  <fhow  far  is  it  down  to 
Storm  Springs?" 

" A  forced  march,  and  you  are  there  in  an  hour  and  a 
half,  sir." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  LADY  OP  THE  PERGOLA 

April,  April, 

Laugh  thy  girlish  laughter; 
Then,  the  moment  after, 
Weep  thy  girlish  tears! 
April,  that  mine  ears 
Like  a  lover  greetest, 
If  I  tell  thee,  sweetest, 
All  my  hopes  and  fears, 
April,  April, 

Laugh  thy  golden  laughter, 
But,  the  moment  after, 
Weep  thy  golden  tears! 

— William  Watson. 

A  few  photographs  of  foreign  scenes  tacked  on  the 
walls;  a  Roman  blanket  hung  as  a  tapestry  over  the 
mantel;  a  portfolio  and  traveler's  writing  materials  dis 
tributed  about  a  table  produced  for  the  purpose,  and 
additions  to  the  meager  book-shelf — a  line  of  Baedekers, 
a  pocket  atlas,  a  comprehensive  American  railway  guide, 
several  volumes  of  German  and  French  poetry — and  the 
place  was  not  so  bad.  Armitage  slept  for  an  hour  after 

180 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  PEEGOLA    181 

a  simple  luncheon  had  been  prepared  by  Oscar,  studied 
his  letters  and  cablegrams — made,  in  fact,  some  notes  in 
regard  to  them — and  wrote  replies.  Then,  at  four 
o'clock,  he  told  Oscar  to  saddle  the  horses. 

"It  is  spring,  and  in  April  a  man's  blood  will  not  be 
quiet.  We  shall  go  forth  and  taste  the  air." 

He  had  studied  the  map  of  Lamar  County  with  care, 
and  led  the  way  out  of  his  own  preserve  by  the  road  over 
which  they  had  entered  in  the  morning.  Oscar  and  his 
horses  were  a  credit  to  the  training  of  the  American 
army,  and  would  have  passed  inspection  anywhere.  Ar- 
mitage  watched  his  adjutant  with  approval.  The  man 
served  without  question,  and,  quicker  of  wit  than  of 
speech,  his  buff-gauntleted  hand  went  to  his  hat-brim 
whenever  Armitage  addressed  him. 

They  sought  again  the  spot  whence  Armitage  had  first 
looked  down  upon  Storm  Valley,  and  he  opened  his 
pocket  map,  the  better  to  clarify  his  ideas  of  the  region. 

"We  shall  go  down  into  the  valley,  Oscar,"  he  said; 
and  thereafter  it  was  he  that  led. 

They  struck  presently  into  an  old  road  that  had  been 
an  early  highway  across  the  mountains.  Above  and  be 
low  the  forest  hung  gloomily,  and  passing  clouds  dark 
ened  the  slopes  and  occasionally  spilled  rain.  Armitage 


183         THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

drew  on  his  cloak  and  Oscar  enveloped  himself  in  a 
slicker  as  they  rode  through  a  sharp  shower.  At  a  lower 
level  they  came  into  fair  weather  again,  and,  crossing  a 
bridge,  rode  down  into  Storm  Valley.  The  road  at  once 
bore  marks  of  care;  and  they  passed  a  number  of  traps 
that  spoke  unmistakably  of  cities,  and  riders  whose 
mounts  knew  well  the  bridle-paths  of  Central  Park.  The 
hotel  loomed  massively  before  them,  and  beyond  were 
handsome  estates  and  ambitious  mansions  scattered 
through  the  valley  and  on  the  lower  slopes. 

Armitage  paused  in  a  clump  of  trees  and  dismounted. 

"You  will  stay  here  until  I  come  back.  And  remem 
ber  that  we  don't  know  any  one ;  and  at  our  time  of  life, 
Oscar,  one  should  be  wary  of  making  new  acquaint 
ances." 

He  tossed  his  cloak  over  the  saddle  and  walked  toward 
the  inn.  The  size  of  the  place  and  the  great  number  of 
people  going  and  coming  surprised  him,  but  in  the  num 
bers  he  saw  his  own  security,  and  he  walked  boldly  up 
the  steps  of  the  main  hotel  entrance.  He  stepped  into 
the  long  corridor  of  the  inn,  where  many  people  lounged 
about,  and  heard  with  keen  satisfaction  and  relief  the 
click  of  a  telegraph  instrument  that  seemed  at  once  to 
bring  him  into  contact  with  the  remote  world.  He 


filed  his  telegrams  and  waited  the  length  of  the  broad 
hall,  his  riding-crop  undei-  his  arm.  The  gay  banter 
and  laughter  of  a  group  of  young  men  and  women  just 
returned  from  a  drive  gave  him  a  touch  of  heartache, 
for  there  was  a  girl  somewhere  in  the  valley  whom  he 
had  followed  across  the  sea,  and  these  people  were  of 
her  own  world — they  undoubtedly  knew  her ;  very  likely 
she  came  often  to  this  huge  caravansary  and  mingled 
with  them. 

At  the  entrance  he  passed  Baron  von  Marhof,  who,  by 
reason  of  the  death  of  his  -royal  chief,  had  taken  a  cot 
tage  at  the  Springs  to  emphasize  his  abstention  from  the 
life  of  the  capital.  The  Ambassador  lifted  his  eyes  and 
bowed  to  Armitage,  as  he  bowed  to  a  great  many  young 
men  whose  names  he  never  remembered;  but,  oddly 
enough,  the  Baron  paused,  stared  after  Armitage  for  a 
moment,  then  shook  his  head  and  walked  on  with  knit 
brows.  Armitage  had  lifted  his  hat  and  passed  out,  tap-£ 
ping  his  leg  with  his  crop. 

He  walked  toward  the  private  houses  that  lay  scat 
tered  over  the  valley  and  along  the  gradual  slope  of  the 
hills  as  though  carelessly  flung  from  a  dice  box.  Many 
of  the  places  were  handsome  estates,  with  imposing 
houses  set  amid  beautiful  gardens.  Half  a  mile  from 


184         THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

the  hotel  he  stopped  a  passing  negro  to  ask  who  owned 
a  large  house  that  stood  well  back  from  the  road.  The 
man  answered ;  he  seemed  anxious  to  impart  further  in 
formation,  and  Armitage  availed  himself  of  the  opportu 
nity. 

"How  near  is  Judge  Claiborne's  place  ?"  he  asked. 

The  man  pointed.  It  was  the  next  house,  on  the  right- 
hand  side ;  and  Armitage  smiled  to  himself  and  strolled 
on. 

-  He  looked  down  in  a  moment  upon  a  pretty  estate, 
distinguished  by  its  formal  garden,  but  with  the  broad 
acres  of  a  practical  farm  stretching  far  out  into  the  val 
ley.  The  lawn  terraces  were  green,  broken  only  by  plots 
of  spring  flowers;  the  walks  were  walled  in  box  and 
privet;  the  house,  of  the  pillared  colonial  type,  crowned 
a  series  of  terraces.  A  long  pergola,  with  pillars  topped 
by  red  urns,  curved  gradually  through  the  garden  to 
ward  the  mansion.  Armitage  followed  a  side  road  along 
the  brick  partition  wall  and  contemplated  the  inner 
landscape.  The  sharp  snap  of  a  gardener's  shears  far  up 
the  slope  was  the  only  sound  that  reached  him.  It  was 
a  charming  place,  and  he  yielded  to  a  temptation  to  ex 
plore  it.  He  dropped  over  the  wall  and  strolled  away 
through  the  garden,  the  smell  of  warm  earth,  moist  from 


THE  LADY  OP  THE  PERGOLA    185 

the  day's  light  showers,  and  the  faint  odor  of  green 
things  growing,  sweet  in  his  nostrils.  He  walked  to  the 
far  end  of  the  pergola,  sat  down  on  a  wooden  bench,  and 
gave  himself  up  to  reverie.  He  had  been  denounced  as  an 
impostor;  he  was  on  Claiborne  soil;  and  the  situation 
required  thought. 

It  was  while  he  thus  pondered  his  affairs  that  Shirley, 
walking  over  the  soft  lawn  from  a  neighboring  estate, 
came  suddenly  upon  him. 

Her  head  went  up  with  surprise  and — he  was  sure — 
with  disdain.  She  stopped  abruptly  as  he  jumped  to  his 
feet. 

"I  am  caught — in  flagrante  delicto  !  I  can  only  plead 
guilty  and  pray  for  mercy." 

"They  said — they  said  you  had  gone  to  Mexico  ?"  said 
Shirley  questioningly. 

"Plague  take  the  newspapers !  How  dare  they  so  mis 
represent  me !"  he  laughed. 

"Yes,  I  read  those  newspaper  articles  with  a  good  deal 
of  interest.  And  my  brother — " 

"Yes,  your  brother — he  is  the  best  fellow  in  the 
world!" 

She  mused,  but  a  smile  of  real  mirth  now  played  over 
her  face  and  lighted  her  eyes. 


186         THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

"Those  are  generous  words,  Mr.  Armitage.  My 
brother  warned  me  against  you  in  quite  unequivocal  lan 
guage.  He  told  me  about  your  match-box — " 

"Oh,  the  cigarette  case !"  and  he  held  it  up.  "It's 
really  mine — and  I'm  going  to  keep  it.  It  was  very  dam 
aging  evidence.  It  would  argue  strongly  against  me  in 
any  court  of  law/' 

"Yes,  I  believe  that  is  true."  And  she  looked  at  the 
trinket  with  frank  interest. 

"But  I  particularly  do  not  wish  to  have  to  meet  that 
charge  in  any  court  of  law,  Miss  Claiborne." 

She  met  his  gaze  very  steadily,  and  her  eyes  were 
grave.  Then  she  asked,  in  much  the  same  tone  that  she 
would  have  used  if  they  had  been  very  old  friends  and 
he  had  excused  himself  for  not  riding  that  day,  or  for 
not  going  upon  a  hunt,  or  to  the  theater : 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  have  a  pledge  to  keep  and  a  work  to  do, 
and  if  I  were  forced  to  defend  myself  from  the  charge 
of  being  the  false  Baron  von  Kissel,  everything  would 
be  spoiled.  You  see,  unfortunately — most  unfortunately 
—  I  am  not  quite  without  responsibilities,  and  I  have 
come  down  into  the  mountains,  where  I  hope  not  to  be 
.'iho\  *ind  tossed  over  a  precipice  until  I  have  had  time 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  PEKGOLA    187 

to  watch  certain  people  and  certain  events  a  little  while. 
I  tried  to  say  as  much  to  Captain  Claiborne,  but  I  saw 
that  my  story  did  not  impress  him.  And  now  I  have 
said  the  same  thing  to  you — " 

He  waited,  gravely  watching  her,  hat  in  hand. 

"And  I  have  stood  here  and  listened  to  you,  and  done 
exactly  what  Captain  Claiborne  would  not  wish  me  to  do 
under  any  circumstances/'  said  Shirley. 

"You  are  infinitely  kind  and  generous — " 

"No.  I  do  not  wish  you  to  think  me  either  of  those 
things — of  course  not !" 

Her  conclusion  was  abrupt  and  pointed. 

"Then—" 

"Then  I  will  tell  you — what  I  have  not  told  any  one 
else — that  I  know  very  well  that  you  are  not  the  person 
who  appeared  at  Bar  Harbor  three  years  ago  and  palmed 
himself  off  as  the  Baron  von  Kissel." 

"You  know  it — you  are  quite  sure  of  it?"  he  asked 
blankly. 

"Certainly.  I  saw  that  person — at  Bar  Harbor.  I  had 
gone  up  from  Newport  for  a  week — I  was  even  at  a  tea 
where  he  was  quite  the  lion,  and  I  am  sure  you  are  not 
the  same  person." 

Her  direct  manner  of  speech,  her  decisive  tone,  in 


188         THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

which  she  placed  the  matter  of  his  identity  on  a  purely 
practical  and  unsentimental  plane,  gave  him  a  new  im 
pression  of  her  character. 

"But  Captain  Claiborne— " 

He  ceased  suddenly  and  she  anticipated  the  question 
at  which  he  had  faltered,  and  answered,  a  little  icily : 

"I  do  not  consider  it  any  of  my  business  to  meddle  in 
your  affairs  with  my  brother.  He  undoubtedly  believes 
you  are  the  impostor  who  palmed  himself  off  at  Bar 
Harbor  as  the  Baron  von  Kissel.  He  was  told  so — 

"By  Monsieur  Chauvenet." 

"So  he  said." 

"And  of  course  he  is  a  capital  witness.  There  is  no 
doubt  of  Chauvenet's  entire  credibility/'  declared  Armi- 
tage,  a  little  airily. 

"I  should  say  not,"  said  Shirley  unresponsively.  "I 
am  quite  as  sure  that  he  was  not  the  false  baron  as  I  am 
that  you  were  not." 

Armitage  laughed. 

"That  is  a  little  pointed." 

"It  was  meant  to  be,"  said  Shirley  sternly.  "It  is" — 
she  weighed  the  word — "ridiculous  that  both  of  you 
should  be  here." 

"Thank  you,  for  my  half !  I  didn't  know  ke  was  here ! 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  PEEGOLA    189 

But  I  am  not  exactly  here — I  have  a  much  safer  place,'* 
— he  swept  the  blue-hilled  horizon  with  his  hand.  "Mon 
sieur  Chauvenet  and  I  will  not  shoot  at  each  other  in  the 
hotel  dining-room.  But  I  am  really  relieved  that  he  has 
come.  We  have  an  interesting  fashion  of  running  into 
each  other;  it  would  positively  grieve  me  to  be  obliged 
to  wait  long  for  him." 

He  smiled  and  thrust  his  hat  under  his  arm.  The  sun 
was  dropping  behind  the  great  western  barricade,  and  a 
chill  wind  crept  sharply  over  the  valley. 

He  started  to  walk  beside  her  as  she  turned  away,  but 
she  paused  abruptly. 

"Oh,  this  won't  do  at  all !  I  can't  be  seen  with  you, 
even  in  the  shadow  of  my  own  house.  I  must  trouble  you 
to  take  the  side  gate," — and  she  indicated  it  by  a  nod  of 
her  head. 

'Not  if  I  know  myself !  I  am  not  a  fraudulent  mem 
ber  of  the  German  nobility — you  have  told  me  so  your 
self.  Your  conscience  is  clear — I  assure  you  mine  is 
equally  so !  And  I  am  not  a  person,  Miss  Claiborne,  to 
sneak  out  by  side  gates — particularly  when  I  came  over 
the  fence !  It's  a  long  way  around  anyhow — and  I  have 
a  horse  over  there  somewhere  by  the  inn." 

"My  brother—" 


190         THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN" 

"Is  at  Fort  Myer,  of  course.  At  about  this  hour  they 
are  having  dress  parade,  and  he  is  thoroughly  occupied." 

"But — there  is  Monsieur  Chauvenet.  He  has  nothing 
to  do  but  amuse  himself." 

They  had  reached  the  veranda  steps,  and  she  ran  to 
the  top  and  turned  for  a  moment  to  look  at  him.  He 
still  carried  his  hat  and  crop  in  one  hand,  and  had 
dropped  the  other  into  the  side  pocket  of  his  coat.  He 
was  wholly  at  ease,  and  the  wind  ruffled  his  hair  and 
gave  him  a  boyish  look  that  Shirley  liked.  But  she  had 
no  wish  to  be  found  with  him,  and  she  instantly  nodded 
his  dismissal  and  half  turned  away  to  go  into  the  house, 
when  he  detained  her  for  a  moment. 

"I  am  perfectly  willing  to  afford  Monsieur  Chauvenet 
all  imaginable  entertainment.  We  are  bound  to  have 
many  meetings.  I  am  afraid  he  reached  this  charming 
valley  before  me ;  but — as  a  rule — I  prefer  to  be  a  little 
ahead  of  him;  it's  a  whim — the  merest  whim,  I  assure 
you/' 

He  laughed,  thinking  little  of  what  he  said,  but  de 
lighting  in  the  picture  she  made,  the  tall  pillars  of  the 
veranda  framing  her  against  the  white  wall  of  the  house, 
and  the  architrave  high  above  speaking,  so  he  thought, 
for  the  amplitude,  the  breadth  of  her  nature.  Her  green 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  PERGOLA    191 

cloth  gown  afforded  the  happiest  possible  contrast  with 
the  white  background;  and  her  hat — (for  a  gown,  let  us 
remember,  may  express  the  dressmaker,  but  a  hat  ex 
presses  the  woman  who  wears  it) — her  hat,  Armitage 
was  aware,  was  a  trifle  of  black  velvet  caught  up  at  one 
side  with  snowy  plumes  well  calculated  to  shock  the 
sensibilities  of  the  Audubon  Society.  Yet  the  bird,  if 
he  knew,  doubtless  rejoiced  in  his  fate !  Shirley's  hand, 
thrice  laid  down,  and  there  you  have  the  length  of  that 
velvet  cap,  plume  and  all.  Her  profile,  as  she  half  turned 
away,  must  awaken  regret  that  Reynolds  and  Gains 
borough  paint  no  more ;  yet  let  us  be  practical :  Sargent, 
in  this  particular,  could  not  serve  us  ill. 

Her  annoyance  at  finding  herself  lingering  to  listen 
to  him  was  marked  in  an  almost  imperceptible  gathering 
of  her  brows.  It  was  all  the  matter  of  an  instant.  His 
heart  beat  fast  in  his  joy  at  the  sight  of  her,  and  the 
tongue  that  years  of  practice  had  skilled  in  reserve  and 
evasion  was  possessed  by  a  reckless  spirit. 

She  nodded  carelessly,  but  said  nothing,  waiting  for 
him  to  go  on. 

"But  when  I  wait  for  people  they  always  come — even 
in  a  strange  pergola!"  he  added  daringly.  "Now,  in 
Geneva,  not  long  ago — " 


192 

He  lost  the  profile  and  gained  her  face  as  he  liked  it 
best,  though  her  head  was  lifted  a  little  high  in  resent 
ment  against  her  own  yielding  curiosity.  He  was  speak 
ing  rapidly,  and  the  slight  hint  of  some  other  tongue 
than  his  usually  fluent  English  arrested  her  ear  now,  as 
it  had  at  other  times. 

"In  Geneva,  when  I  told  a  young  lady  that  I  was 
waiting  for  a  very  wicked  man  to  appear — it  was  really 
the  oddest  thing  in  the  world  that  almost  immediately 
Monsieur  Jules  Chauvenet  arrived  at  mine  own  inn !  It 
is  inevitable;  it  is  always  sure  to  be  my  fate,"  he  con 
cluded  mournfully. 

He  bowed  low,  restored  the  shabby  hat  to  lus  head 
with  the  least  bit  of  a  flourish  and  strolled  away  through 
the  garden  by  a  broad  walk  that  led  to  the  front  gate. 

He  would  have  been  interested  to  know  that  when  he 
was  out  of  sight  Shirley  walked  to  the  veranda  rail  and 
bent  forward,  listening  to  his  steps  on  the  gravel,  after 
the  hedge  and  shrubbery  had  hidden  him.  And  she 
stood  thus  until  the  faint  click  of  the  gate  told  her  that 
he  had  gone. 

She  did  not  know  that  as  the  gate  closed  upon  him  he 
met  Chanvenet  face  to  face. 


CHAPTER 


AN   ENFORCED  INTERVIEW 

En  garde,  Messieurs!  And  if  my  hand  is  hard, 
Remember  I've  been  buffeting  at  will; 
I  am  a  whit  impatient,  and  'tis  ill 

To  cross  a  hungry  dog.  Messieurs,  en  garde. 

—  W.  Lindsey. 

"Monsieur  Chauvenet  !" 

Armitage  uncovered  smilingly.  Chauvenet  stared 
mutely  as  Armitage  paused  with,  his  back  to  the  Clai- 
borne  gate.  Chauvenet  was  dressed  with  his  usual  care, 
and  wore  the  latest  carnation  in  the  lapel  of  his  top-coat. 
He  struck  the  ground  with  his  stick,  his  look  of  aston 
ishment  passed,  and  he  smiled  pleasantly  as  he  returned 
Armitage's  salutation. 

"My  dear  Armitage  !"  he  murmured. 

"I  didn't  go  to  Mexico  after  all,  my  good  Chauvenet. 
The  place  is  full  of  fevers  ;  I  couldn't  take  the  risk." 

"He  is  indeed  a  wise  man  who  safeguards  his  health," 
replied  the  other. 

193 


194         THE   PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

"You  are  quite  right.  And  when  one  has  had  many 
narrow  escapes,  one  may  be  excused  for  exercising  rather 
particular  care.  Do  you  not  find  it  so  ?"  mocked  Armi- 
tage. 

"My  dear  fellow,  my  life  is  one  long  fight  against 
ennui.  Danger,  excitement,  the  hazard  of  my  precious 
life — such  pleasures  of  late  have  been  denied  me/' 

"But  you  are  young  and  of  intrepid  spirit,  Monsieur. 
It  would  be  quite  surprising  if  some  perilous  adventure 
did  not  overtake  you  before  the  silver  gets  in  your  hair." 

"Ah !  I  assure  you  the  speculation  interests  me ;  but 
I  must  trouble  you  to  let  me  pass,"  continued  Chauve- 
net,  in  the  same  tone.  "I  shall  quite  forget  that  I  set 
out  to  make  a  call  if  I  linger  longer  in  your  charming 
society." 

"But  I  must  ask  you  to  delay  your  call  for  the  present. 
I  shall  greatly  value  your  company  down  the  road  a  little 
way.  It  is  a  trifling  favor,  and  you  are  a  man  of  de 
lightful  courtesy." 

Chauvenet  twisted  his  mustache  reflectively.  His 
mind  had  been  busy  seeking  means  of  turning  the  meet 
ing  to  his  own  advantage.  He  had  met  Armitage  at  quite 
the  least  imaginable  spot  in  the  world  for  an  encounter 
between  them;  and  he  was  not  a  man  who  enjoyed 


AN    ENFORCED    INTERVIEW.  195 

surprises.  He  had  taken  care  that  the  exposure  of 
Armitage  at  Washington  should  be  telegraphed  to  every 
part  of  the  country,  and  put  upon  the  cables.  He  had 
expected  Armitage  to  leave  Washington,  but  he  had  no 
idea  that  he  would  turn  up  at  a  fashionable  resort 
greatly  affected  by  Washingtonians  and  only  a  compar 
atively  short  distance  from  the  capital.  He  was  at  a 
great  disadvantage  in  not  knowing  Armitage's  plans 
and  strategy ;  his  own  mind  was  curiously  cunning,  and 
his  reasoning  powers  traversed  oblique  lines.  He  was 
thus  prone  to  impute  similar  mental  processes  to  other 
people ;  simplicity  and  directness  he  did  not  understand 
at  all.  He  had  underrated  Armitage's  courage  and  dar 
ing;  he  wished  to  make  no  further  mistakes,  and  he 
walked  back  toward  the  hotel  with  apparent  good  grace. 
Armitage  spoke  now  in  a  very  different  key,  and  the 
change  displeased  Chauvenet,  for  he  much  affected  iron 
ical  raillery,  and  his  companion's  sterner  tones  discon 
certed  him. 

"I  take  this  opportunity  to  give  you  a  solemn  warning, 
Monsieur  Jules  Chauvenet,  alias  Rambaud,  and  thereby 
render  you  a  greater  service  than  you  know.  You  have 
undertaken  a  deep  and  dangerous  game — it  is  spectacu 
lar — it  is  picturesque — it  is  immense !  It  is  so  stupen- 


196         THE   PORT   OF   MISSING   MEN 

dons  that  the  taking  of  a  few  lives  seems  trifling  in 
comparison  with  the  end  to  be  attained.  Now  look  about 
you  for  a  moment,  Monsieur  Jules  Chauvenet !  In  this 
mountain  air  a  man  may  grow  very  sane  and  see  mat 
ters  very  clearly.  London,  Paris,  Berlin,  Tienna — they 
are  a  long  way  off,  and  the  things  they  stand  for  lose 
their  splendor  when  a  man  sits  among  these  American 
mountains  and  reflects  upon  the  pettiness  and  sordid- 
ness  of  man's  common  ambitions/' 

"Is  this  exordium  or  peroration,  my  dear  fellow  ?" 
"It    is    both,"    replied    Armitage    succinctly,    and 
Chauvenet  was   sorry   he   had   spoken,   for   Armitage 
stopped  short  in  a  lonely  stretch  of  the  highway  and  con 
tinued  in  a  disagreeable,  incisive  tone: 

"I  ran  away  from  Washington  after  you  told  that 
story  at  Claiborne's  supper-table,  not  because  I  was 
afraid  of  your  accusation,  but  because  I  wanted  to 
watch  your  plans  a  little  in  security.    The  only  man 
who  could  have  helped  me  immediately  was  Senator 
Sanderson,  and  I  knew  that  he  was  in  Montana," 
Chauvenet  smiled  with  a  return  of  assurance. 
"Of  course.   The  hour  was  chosen  well !" 
"More  wisely,  in  fact,  than  your  choice  of  that  big 
assassin  of  yours.    He's  a  clumsy  fellow,  with  more 


AN   ENFORCED   INTERVIEW  197 

brawn  than  brains.  I  had  no  trouble  in  shaking  him  off 
in  Boston,  where  you  probably  advised  him  I  should  be 
taking  the  Montreal  express." 

Chauvenet  blinked.  This  was  precisely  what  he  had 
told  Zmai  to  expect.  He  shifted  from  one  foot  to  an 
other,  and  wondered  just  how  he  was  to  escape  from 
Armitage.  He  had  gone  to  Storm  Springs  to  be  near 
Shirley  Claiborne,  and  he  deeply  resented  having  busi 
ness  thrust  upon  him. 

"He  is  a  wise  man  who  wields  the  knife  himself, 
Monsieur  Chauvenet.  In  the  taking  of  poor  Count 
von  StroebePs  life  so  deftly  and  secretly,  you  prove  my 
philosophy.  It  was  a  clever  job,  Monsieur !" 

Chauvenet's  gloved  fingers  caught  at  his  mustaehe. 

"That  is  almost  insulting,  Monsieur  Armitage.  A 
distinguished  statesman  is  killed — therefore  I  must  have 
murdered  him.  You  forget  that  there's  a  difference  be 
tween  us— you  are  an  unknown  adventurer,  carried  on 
the  books  of  the  police  as  a  fugitive  from  justice,  and 
I  can  walk  to  the  hotel  and  get  twenty  reputable  men 
to  vouch  for  me.  I  advise  you  to  be  careful  not  to  men 
tion  my  name  in  connection  with  Count  von  Stroebel's 
death."- 

He  had  begun  jauntily,  but  closed  in  heat,  and  when 


198         THE   POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

he  finished  Armitage  nodded  to  signify  that  he  under 
stood  perfectly. 

"A  few  more  deaths  and  you  would  be  in  a  position 
to  command  tribute  from  a  high  quarter,  Monsieur." 

"Your  mind  seems  to  turn  upon  assassination.  If 
you  know  so  much  about  Stroebel's  death,  it's  unfortu 
nate  that  you  left  Europe  at  a  time  when  you  might 
have  rendered  important  aid  in  finding  the  murderer. 
It's  a  bit  suspicious,  Monsieur  Armitage!  It  is  known 
at  the  Hotel  Monte  Eosa  in  Geneva  that  you  were  the 
last  person  to  enjoy  an  interview  with  the  venerable 
statesman — you  see  I  am  not  dull,  Monsieur  Armitage  I" 

"You  are  not  dull,  Chauvenet;  you  are  only  short 
sighted.  The  same  witnesses  know  that  John  Armitage 
was  at  the  Hotel  Monte  Eosa  for  twenty-four  hours 
following  the  Count's  departure.  Meanwhile,  where  were 
you,  Jules  Chauvenet  ?" 

Chauvenet's  hand  again  went  to  his  face,  which 
whitened,  though  he  sought  refuge  again  in  flippant 
irony. 

"To  be  sure !  Where  was  I,  Monsieur  ?  Undoubtedly 
you  know  all  my  movements,  so  that  it  is  unnecessary 
for  me  to  have  any  opinions  in  the  matter." 

"Quite  so!   Your  opinions  are  not  of  great  value  to 


AN   ENFORCED   INTERVIEW.  199 

me,  for  I  employed  agents  to  trace  every  move  you 
made  during  the  month  in  which  Count  von  Stroebel 
was  stabbed  to  death  in  his  railway  carriage.  It  is  so( 
interesting  that  I  have  committed  the  record  to  mem 
ory.  If  the  story  would  interest  you — " 

The  hand  that  again  sought  the  slight  mustache 
trembled  slightly;  but  Chauvenet  smiled. 

"You  should  write  the  memoirs  of  your  very  interest 
ing  career,  my  dear  fellow.  I  can  not  listen  to  your  bab 
ble  longer." 

"I  do  not  intend  that  you  shall;  but  your  where 
abouts  on  Monday  night,  March  eighteenth,  of  this  year, 
may  need  explanation,  Monsieur  Chauvenet." 

"If  it  should,  I  shall  call  upon  you,  my  dear  fellow !" 

"Save  yourself  the  trouble !  The  bureau  I  employed 
to  investigate  the  matter  could  assist  you  much  better. 
All  I  could  offer  would  be  copies  of  its  very  thorough  re 
ports.  The  number  of  cups  of  coffee  your  friend  Du- 
rand  drank  for  breakfast  this  morning  at  his  lodgings 
in  Vienna  will  reach  me  in  due  course !" 

"You  are  really  a  devil  of  a  fellow,  John  Armitage ! 
So  much  knowledge !  So  acute  an  intellect !  You  are  too 
wise  to  throw  away  your  life  futilely." 

"You  have  been  most  generous  in  sparing  it  thus 


200         THE   POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

far !"  laughed  Armitage,  and  Chauvenet  took  instant 
advantage  of  his  change  of  humor. 

"Perhaps — perhaps — I  have  pledged  my  faith  in  the 
wrong  quarter,  Monsieur.  If  I  may  say  it,  we  are  both 
fairly  clever  men;  together  we  could  achieve  much!" 

"So  you  would  sell  out,  would  you?"  laughed  Armi 
tage.  "You  miserable  little  blackguard,  I  should  like 
to  join  forces  with  you!  Your  knack  of  getting  the 
poison  into  the  right  cup  every  time  would  be  a  valuable 
asset !  But  we  are  not  made  for  each  other  in  this  world. 
In  the  next — who  knows?" 

"As  you  will !  I  dare  say  you  would  be  an  exacting 
partner." 

"All  of  that,  Chauvenet!  You  do  best  to  stick  to 
your  present  employer.  He  needs  you  and  the  like  of 
you — I  don't !  But  remember — if  there's  a  sudden  death 
in  Vienna,  in  a  certain  high  quarter,  you  will  not  live 
to  reap  the  benefits.  Charles  Louis  rules  Austria-Hun 
gary;  his  cousin,  your  friend  Francis,  is  not  of  kingly 
proportions.  I  advise  you  to  cable  the  amiable  Durand 
of  a  dissolution  of  partnership.  It  is  now  too  late  for 
you  to  call  at  Judge  Claiborne's,  and  I  shall  trouble  you 
to  walk  on  down  the  road  for  ten  minutes.  If  you  look 
round  or  follow  me,  I  shall  certainly  turn  you  into 


AN   ENFOKCED   INTEEVIEW  201 

something  less  attractive  than  a  pillar  of  sail.  You  do 
well  to  consult  your  watch — forward !" 

Armifcage  pointed  down  the  road  with  his  riding-crop. 
As  Chauvenet  walked  slowly  away,  swinging  his  stick, 
Armitage  turned  toward  the  hotel.  The  shadow  of  night 
was  enfolding  the  hills,  and  it  was  quite  dark  when  he 
found  Oscar  and  the  horses. 

He  mounted,  and  they  rode  through  the  deepening 
April  dusk,  up  the  winding  trail  that  led  out  of  Storm 
Valley. 


CHAPTER   XV 

SHIRLEY   LEARNS  A  SECRET 

Nightingales  warble  about  it 

All  night  under  blossom  and  star; 
Tfce  wild  swan  is  dying  without  it, 

And  the  eagle  crieth  afar; 
The  sun,  he  doth  mount  but  to  find  it 

Searching  the  green  earth  o'er; 
But  more  doth  a  man's  heart  mind  it — 

O  more,  more,  more! 

— (?.  E.  Woodberry. 

Shirley  Claiborne  was  dressed  for  a  ride,  and  while 
waiting  for  her  horse  she  re-read  her  brother's  letter; 
and  the  postscript,  which  follows,  she  read  twice : 

"I  shall  never  live  down  my  acquaintance  with  the 
delectable  Armitage.  My  brother  officers  insist  on  rub 
bing  it  in.  I  even  hear,  ma  cJierie,  that  you  have  gone 
into  retreat  by  reason  of  the  exposure.  I'll  admit,  for 
your  consolation,  that  he  really  took  me  in;  and,  fur 
ther,  I  really  wonder  who  the  devil  he  is, — or  was! 
Our  last  interview  at  the  Club,  after  Chauvenet  told 
his  story,  lingers  with  me  disagreeably.  I  was  naturally 
pretty  hot  to  find  him  playing  the  darkly  mysterious, 

202 


SHIELEY   LEAENS   A    SECEET          203 

which  never  did  go  with  me, — after  eating  my  bird  and 
drinking  my  bottle.  As  a  precaution  I  have  looked  up 
Chauvenet  to  the  best  of  my  ability.  At  the  Austro- 
Hungarian  Embassy  they  speak  well  of  him.  He's  over 
here  to  collect  the  price  of  a  few  cruisers  or  some  such 
rubbish  from  one  of  our  sister  republics  below  the  Gulf. 
But  bad  luck  to  all  foreigners !  Me  for  America  every 
time!" 

"Dear  old  Dick !"  and  she  dropped  the  letter  into  a 
drawer  and  went  out  into  the  sunshine,  mounted  her 
horse  and  turned  toward  the  hills. 

She  had  spent  the  intermediate  seasons  of  the  year  at 
Storm  Springs  ever  since  she  could  remember,  and  had 
climbed  the  surrounding  hills  and  dipped  into  the  valleys 
with  a  boy's  zest  and  freedom.  The  Virginia  mountains 
were  linked  in  her  mind  to  the  dreams  of  her  youth,  to 
her  earliest  hopes  and  aspirations,  and  to  the  books  she 
had  read,  and  she  galloped  happily  out  of  the  valley  to 
the  tune  of  an  old  ballad.  She  rode  as  a  woman  should, 
astride  her  horse  and  not  madly  clinging  to  it  in  the  pre 
posterous  ancient  fashion.  She  had  known  horses  from 
early  years,  in  which  she  had  tumbled  from  her  pony's 
back  in  the  stable-yard,  an<2  she  knew  how  to  train  a 
horse  to  a  gait  and  how  to  master  a  beast's  fear;  and 


204         THE   POET   OF   MISSING   MEN 

even  some  of  the  tricks  of  the  troopers  in  the  Port  Myer 
drill  she  had  surreptitiously  practised  in  the  meadow 
back  of  the  Claiborne  stable. 

It  was  on  Tuesday  that  John  Armitage  had  appeared 
before  her  in  the  pergola.  It  was  now  Thursday  after 
noon,  and  Chauvenet  had  been  to  see  her  twice  since, 
and  she  had  met  him  the  night  before  at  a  dance  at  one 
of  the  cottages. 

Judge  Claiborne  was  distinguished  for  his  acute  and 
sinewy  niind ;  but  he  had,  too,,  a  strong  feeling  for  art  in 
all  its  expressions,  and  it  was  his  gift  of  imagination, — • 
the  ability  to  forecast  the  enemy's  strategy  and  then 
strike  his  weakest  point, — that  had  made  him  a  great 
lawyer  and  diplomat.  Shirley  had  played  chess  with  her 
father  until  she  had  learned  to  see  around  corners  as 
he  did,  and  she  liked  a  problem,  a  test  of  wit,  a  contest 
of  powers.  She  knew  how  to  wait  and  ponder  in  silence, 
and  therein  lay  the  joy  of  the  saddle,  when  she  could 
ride  alone  with  no  groom  to  bother  her,  and  watch  en 
chantments  unfold  on  the  hilltops. 

Once  free  of  the  settlement  she  rode  far  and  fast, 
until  she  was  quite  beyond  the  usual  routes  of  the 
Springs  excursionists;  then  in  mountain  byways  she 
enjoyed  the  luxury  of  leisure  and  dismounted  now  and 


SHIKLEY  LEAENS  A  SECRET    205 

fchen  to  delight  in  the  green  of  the  laurel  and  question 
the  rhododendrons. 

Jules  Chauvenet  had  scoured  the  hills  all  day  and  ex 
plored  many  mountain  paths  and  inquired  cautiously  of 
the  natives.  The  telegraph  operator  at  the  Storm 
Springs  inn  was  a  woman,  and  the  despatch  and  receipt 
by  Jules  Chauvenet  of  long  messages,  many  of  them  in 
cipher,  piqued  her  curiosity.  ISTo  member  of  the  Wash 
ington  diplomatic  circle  who  came  to  the  Springs, — not 
even  the  shrewd  and  secretive  Eussian  Ambassador, — re 
ceived  longer  or  more  cryptic  cables.  With  the  social  di 
versions  of  the  Springs  and  the  necessity  for  making  a 
show  of  having  some  legitimate  business  in  America, 
Jules  Chauvenet  was  pretty  well  occupied ;  and  now  the 
presence  of  John  Armitage  in  Virginia  added  to  his 
burdens. 

He  was  tired  and  perplexed,  and  it  was  with  unaffected 
pleasure  that  he  rode  out  of  an  obscure  hill-path  into  a 
bit  of  open  wood  overhanging  a  curious  defile  and  came 
upon  Shirley  Claiborne. 

The  soil  was  soft  and  his  horse  carried  him  quite  near 
before  she  heard  him.  A  broad  sheet  of  water  flashed 
down  the  farther  side  of  the  narrow  pass,  sending  up  a 
pretty  spurt  of  spray  wherever  it  struck  the  jutting  rock. 


206         THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

As  Shirley  turned  toward  him  he  urged  his  horse  over 
the  springy  turf. 

"A  pity  to  disturb  the  picture,  Miss  Claiborne!  A 
thousand  pardons !  But  I  really  wished  to  see  whether 
the  figure  could  come  out  of  the  canvas.  Now  that  I 
have  dared  to  make  the  test,  pray  do  not  send  me  away." 

Her  horse  turned  restlessly  and  brought  her  face  to 
face. with  Chauvenet. 

"Steady,  Fanny!  Don't  come  near  her,  please — " 
this  last  to  Chauvenet,  who  had  leaped  down  and  put 
out  his  hand  to  her  horse's  bridle.  She  had  the  true 
horsewoman's  pride  in  caring  for  herself  and  her  eyes 
flashed  angrily  for  a  moment  at  Chauvenet's  proffered 
aid.  A  man  might  open  a  door  for  her  or  pick  up  her 
handkerchief,  but  to  touch  her  horse  was  an  altogether 
different  business.  The  pretty,  graceful  mare  was  calm 
in  a  moment  and  arched  her  neck  contentedly  under  the 
stroke  of  Shirley's  hand. 

"Beautiful !  The  picture  is  even  more  perfect,  Made 
moiselle  !" 

"Fanny  is  best  in  action,  and  splendid  when  she  runs 
away.  She  hasn't  run  away  to-day,  but  I  think  she  is 
likely  to  before  I  get  home." 

She  was  thinking  of  the  long  ride  which  she  had  no 


SHIRLEY  LEARNS  A  SECRET    207 

intention  of  taking  in  Chauvenet's  company.  He  stood 
uncovered  beside  her,  holding  his  horse. 

"But  the  danger,  Mademoiselle !  You  should  not  haz 
ard  your  life  with  a  runaway  horse  on  these  roads.  It  is 
not  fair  to  your  friends." 

"You  are  a  conservative,  Monsieur.  I  should  be 
ashamed  to  have  a  runaway  in  a  city  park,  but  what  does 
one  come  to  the  country  for  ?" 

"What,  indeed,  but  for  excitement?  You  are  not  of 
those  tame  young  women  across  the  sea  who  come  out 
into  the  world  from  a  convent,  frightened  at  all  they  see 
and  whisper  TTes,  Sister,'  'No,  Sister/  to  everything 
they  hear." 

"Yes ;  we  Americans  are  deficient  in  shyness  and  hu 
mility.  I  have  often  heard  it  remarked,  Monsieur  Chau- 
venet." 

"No!  No!  You  misunderstand!  Those  deficiencies, 
as  you  term  them,  are  delightful;  they  are  what  give 
the  charm  to  the  American  woman.  I  hope  you  would 
not  believe  me  capable  of  speaking  in  disparagement, 
Mademoiselle, — you  must  know — " 

The  water  tumbled  down  the  rock  into  the  vale ;  the 
soft  air  was  sweet  with  the  scent  of  pines.  An  eagle 
cruised  high  against  the  blue  overhead.  Shirley's  hand 


208         THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

tightened  on  the  rein,  and  Fanny  lifted  her  head  ex 
pectantly. 

Chauvenet  went  on  rapidly  in  French : 

"You  must  know  why  I  am  here — why  I  have  crossed 
the  sea  to  seek  you  in  your  own  home.  I  have  loved  you, 
Mademoiselle,  from  the  moment  I  first  saw  you  in  Flor 
ence.  Here,  with  only  the  mountains,  the  sky,  the  wood, 
I  must  speak.  You  must  hear — you  must  believe,  that 
I  love  you !  I  offer  you  my  life,  my  poor  attainments — " 

"Monsieur,  you  do  me  a  great  honor,  but  I  can  not 
listen.  What  you  ask  is  impossible,  quite  impossible. 
But,  Monsieur — " 

Her  eyes  had  fallen  upon  a  thicket  behind  him  where 
something  had  stirred.  She  thought  at  first  that  it  was 
an  animal  of  some  sort ;  but  she  saw  now  quite  distinctly 
a  man's  shabby  felt  hat  that  rose  slowly  until  the  bearded 
face  of  its  wearer  was  disclosed. 

"Monsieur \"  cried  Shirley  in  a  low  tone;  "look  be 
hind  you  and  be  careful  what  you  say  or  do.  Leave  the 
man  to  me." 

Chauvenet  turned  and  faced  a  scowling  mountaineer 
who  held  a  rifle  and  drew  it  to  his  shoulder  as  Chauve 
net  threw  out  his  arms,  dropped  them  to  his  thighs  and 
laughed  carelessly. 


SHIRLEY   LEARXS    A    SECRET          209 

"What  is  it,  my  dear  fellow — my  watch — my  purse — 
my  horse  ?"  he  said  in  English. 

"He  wants  none  of  those  things/'  said  Shirley,  urging 
her  horse  a  few  steps  toward  the  man.  "The  mountain 
people  are  not  robbers.  What  can  we  do  for  you?"  she 
asked  pleasantly. 

"You  cain't  do  nothin'  for  me,"  drawled  the  man.  "Go 
on  away,  Miss.  I  want  to  see  this  little  fella'.  I  got  a 
little  business  with  him." 

"He  is  a  foreigner — he  knows  little  of  our  language. 
You  will  do  best  to  let  me  stay,"  said  Shirley. 

She  had  not  the  remotest  idea  of  what  the  man  wanted, 
but  she  had  known  the  mountain  folk  from  childhood 
and  well  understood  that  familiarity  with  their  ways  and 
tact  were  necessary  in  dealing  with  them. 

"Miss,  I  have  seen  you  befo',  and  I  reckon  we  ain't 
got  no  cause  for  trouble  with  you;  but  this  little  fella' 
ain't  no  business  up  hy'eh.  Them  hotel  people  has  their 
own  places  to  ride  and  drive,  and  it's  all  right  for  you, 
Miss ;  but  what's  yo'  f rien'  ridin'  the  hills  for  at  night  ? 
He's  lookin'  for  some  un',  and  I  reckon  as  how  that  some 
un'  air  me !" 

He  spoke  drawlingly  with  a  lazy  good  humor  in  his 
tones,  and  Shirley's  wits  took  advantage  of  his  deliber- 


210 

p,tion  to  consider  the  situation  from  several  points  of 
view.  Chauvenet  stood  looking  from  Shirley  to  the  man 
and  back  again.  He  was  by  no  means  a  coward,  and  he 
did  not  in  the  least  relish  the  thought  of  owing  his  safe 
ty  to  a  woman.  But  the  confidence  with  which  Shirley 
addressed  the  man,  and  her  apparent  familiarity  with 
the  peculiarities  of  the  mountaineers  impressed  him. 
He  spoke  to  her  rapidly  in  French. 

"Assure  the  man  that  I  never  heard  of  him  before  in 
my  life — that  the  idea  of  seeking  him  never  occurred  to 
me." 

The  rifle — a  repeater  of  the  newest  type — went  to  the 
man's  shoulder  in  a  flash  and  the  blue  barrel  pointed 
at  Chauvenet's  head. 

"None  o'  that !  I  reckon  the  American  language  air 
good  enough  for  these  'ere  negotiations." 

Chauvenet  shrugged  his  shoulders ;  but  he  gazed  into 
the  muzzle  of  the  rifle  unflinchingly. 

"The  gentleman  was  merely  explaining  that  you  are 
mistaken;  that  he  does  not  know  you  and  never  heard 
of  you  before,  and  that  he  has  not  been  looking  for  you 
in  the  mountains  or  anywhere  else." 

As  Shirley  spoke  these  words  very  slowly  and  dis 
tinctly  she  questioned  for  the  first  time  Chauvenet's  po- 


' '  You  air  a  liar,  seh  ! "    Page  211 


213         THE   PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

explanation  of  the  mountaineer's  interest  in  a  stranger 
riding  the  hills  occurred  to  her. 

"My  friend,"  she  said.  "I  am  Miss  Claiborne.  You 
may  know  my  father's  house  down  in  the  valley.  We 
have  been  coming  here  as  far  hack  as  I  can  remember." 

The  mountaineer  listened  to  her  gravely,  and  at  her 
last  words  he  unconsciously  nodded  his  head.  Shirley, 
seeing  that  he  was  interested,  seized  her  advantage. 

"I  have  no  reason  for  misleading  you.  This  gentleman 
is  not  a  revenue  man.  He  probably  never  heard  of  a — 
still,  do  you  call  it  ? — in  his  life — "  and  she  smiled  upon 
him  sweetly.  "But  if  you  will  let  him  go  I  promise  to 
satisfy  you  entirely  in  the  matter." 

Chauvenet  started  to  speak,  but  Shirley  arrested  him 
with  a  gesture,  and  spoke  again  to  the  mountaineer  in 
her  most  engaging  tone : 

"We  are  both  mountaineers,  you  and  I,  and  we  don't 
want  any  of  our  people  to  be  carried  off  to  jail.  Isn't 
that  so  ?  Now  let  this  gentleman  ride  away,  and  I  shall 
stay  here  until  I  have  quite  assured  you  that  you  are 
mistaken  about  him." 

She  signaled  Chauvenet  to  mount,  holding  the  mysti 
fied  and  reluctant  mountaineer  with  her  eyes.  Her  heart 
was  thumping  fast  and  her  hand  shook  a  little  as  she 


SHIRLEY   LEARNS    A   SECRET    .     213 

tightened  her  grasp  on  the  rein.  She  addressed 
Chauvenet  in  English  as  a  mark  of  good  faith  to 
their  captor. 

'Hide  on,  Monsieur ;  do  not  wait  for  me." 

"But  it  is  growing  dark — I  can  not  leave  you  alone, 
Mademoiselle.  You  have  rendered  me  a  great  service, 
when  it  is  I  who  should  have  extricated  you — " 

"Pray  do  not  mention  it !  It  is  a  mere  chance  that  I 
am  able  to  help.  I  shall  be  perfectly  safe  with  this  gen 
tleman." 

The  mountaineer  took  off  his  hat. 

"Thank  ye,  Miss,"  he  said;  and  then  to  Chauvenet: 
"Get  out !" 

"Don't  trouble  about  me  in  the  least,  Monsieur  Chau 
venet,"  and  Shirley  affirmed  the  last  word  with  a  nod  as 
Chauvenet  jumped  into  his  saddle  and  rode  off.  When 
the  swift  gallop  of  his  horse  had  carried  him  out  of 
sight  and  sound  down  the  road,  Shirley  faced  the 
mountaineer. 

''What  is  your  name  ?" 

"Tom  Selfridge." 

"Whom  did  you  take  that  man  to  be,  Mr.  Selfridge  ?" 
asked  Shirley,  and  in  her  eagerness  she  bent  down  above 
the  mountaineer's  bared  tangle  of  tow. 


THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

"The  name  you  called  him  ain't  it.  It's  a  queer  name 
I  never  heerd  tell  on  befo' — it's — it's  like  the  a'my — " 

"Is  ft  Armitage  ?"  asked  Shirley  quickly. 

"That's  it,  Miss !  The  postmaster  over  at  Lamar  told 
me  to  look  out  fer  'im.  He's  moved  up  hy'eh,  and  it 
ain't  fer  no  good.  The  word's  out  that  a  city  man's 
lookin'  for  something  or  somebody  in  these  hills.  And 
the  man's  stayin' — " 

"Where?" 

"At  the  huntin'  club  where  folks  don't  go  no  more.  I 
ain't  seen  him,  but  th'  word's  passed.  He's  a  city  man 
and  a  stranger,  and  got  a  little  fella'  that's  been  a  soldier 
into  th'  army  stayin'  with  'im.  I  thought  yo'  furriner 
was  him,  Miss,  honest  to  God  I  did." 

The  incident  amused  Shirley  and  she  laughed  aloud. 
She  had  undoubtedly  gained  information  that  Chauvenet 
had  gone  forth  to  seek;  she  had — and  the  thing  was 
funny — served  Chauvenet  well  in  explaining  away  his 
presence  in  the  mountains  and  getting  him  out  of  the 
clutches  of  the  mountaineer,  while  at  the  same  time  she 
was  learning  for  herself  the  fact  of  Armitage's  where 
abouts  and  keeping  it  from  Chauvenet.  It  was  a  curious 
adventure,  and  she  gave  her  hand  smilingly  to  the  mysti 
fied  and  still  doubting  mountaineer. 


SHIRLEY   LEAENS   A    SECRET          215 

"I  give  you  my  word  of  honor  that  neither  man  is  a 
government  officer  and  neither  one  has  the  slightest  in 
terest  in  you — will  you  believe  me  ?" 

"I  reckon  I  got  to,  Miss." 

"Good;  and  now,  Mr.  Selfridge,  it  is  growing  dark 
and  I  want  you  to  walk  down  this  trail  with  me  until 
we  come  to  the  Storm  Springs  road." 

"I'll  do  it  gladly,  Miss." 

"Thank  you ;  now  let  us  be  off." 

She  made  him  turn  back  when  they  reached  a  point 
from  which  they  could  look  upon  the  electric  lights  of 
the  Springs  colony,  and  where  the  big  hotel  and  its 
piazzas  shone  like  a  steamship  at  night.  A  moment  later 
Chauvenet,  who  had  waited  impatiently,  joined  her,  and 
they  rode  down  together.  She  referred  at  once  to  the 
affair  with  the  mountaineer  in  her  most  frivolous  key. 

"They  are  an  odd  and  suspicious  people,  but  they're 
as  loyal  as  the  stars.  And  please  let  us  never  mention 
the  matter  again — not  to  any  one,  if  you  please,  Mon 
sieur  !" 


NARROW   MARGINS 

The  black-caps  pipe  among  the  reeds, 

And  there'll  be  rain  to  follow; 
There  is  a  murmur  as  of  wind 

In  every  coign  and  hollow; 
The  wrens  do  chatter  of  their  fears 
While  swinging  on  the  barley-ears. 

—Am&iie  Rives. 

The  Judge  and  Mrs.  Claiborne  were  dining  with,  some 
old  friends  in  the  valley,  and  Shirley,  left  alone,  carried 
to  the  table  several  letters  that  had  come  in  the  late  mail. 
The  events  of  the  afternoon  filled  her  mind,  and  she  was 
not  sorry  to  he  alone.  It  occurred  to  her  that  she  was 
building  up  a  formidable  tower  of  strange  secrets,  and 
she  wondered  whether,  having  begun  by  keeping  her  own 
counsel  as  to  the  attempts  she  had  witnessed  against 
John  Armitage's  life,  she  ought  now  to  unfold  all  she 
knew  to  her  father  or  to  Dick.  In  the  twentieth  century 
homicide  was  not  a  common  practice  among  men  she 
knew  or  was  likely  to  know;  and  the  feeling  of  culpa- 


NARROW   MARGINS  217 

bility  for  her  silence  crossed  lances  with  a  deepening 
sympathy  for  Armitage.  She  had  learned  where  he  was 
hiding,  and  she  smiled  at  the  recollection  of  the  trifling 
bit  of  strategy  she  had  practised  upon  Chauvenet. 

The  maid  who  served  Shirley  noted  with  surprise  the 
long  pauses  in  which  her  young  mistress  sat  staring 
across  the  table  lost  in  reverie.  A  pretty  picture  was 
Shirley  in  these  intervals :  one  hand  raised  to  her  cheek, 
bright  from  the  sting  of  the  spring  wind  in  the  hills. 
Her  forearm,  white  and  firm  and  strong,  was  circled  by 
a  band  of  Roman  gold,  the  only  ornament  she  wore,  and 
when  she  lifted  her  hand  with  its  quick  deft  gesture,  the 
trinket  flashed  away  from  her  wrist  and  clasped  the 
warm  flesh  as  though  in  joy  of  the  closer  intimacy.  Her 
hair  was  swept  up  high  from  her  brow;  her  nose, 
straight,  like  her  father's,  was  saved  from  arrogance  by 
a  sensitive  mouth,  all  eloquent  of  kindness  and  whole 
some  mirth — but  we  take  unfair  advantage !  A  girl  din 
ing  in  candle-light  with  only  her  dreams  for  company 
should  be  safe  from  impertinent  eyes. 

She  had  kept  Dick's  letter  till  the  last.  He  wrote  often 
and  in  the  key  of  his  talk.  She  dropped  a  lump  of  sugar 
into  her  coffee-cup  and  read  his  hurried  scrawl : 

"What  do  you  think  has  happened  now  ?  I  have  four- 


218         THE   PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

teen  dollars'  worth  of  telegrams  from  Sanderson — wiring 
from  some  God-forsaken  hole  in  Montana,  that  it's  all 
rot  about  Armitage  being  that  fake  Baron  von  Kissel. 
The  newspaper  accounts  of  the  expose  at  my  supper 
party  had  just  reached  him,  and  he  says  Armitage  was 
on  his  (Armitage's)  ranch  all  that  summer  the  noble 
baron  was  devastating  our  northern  sea-coast.  Where, 
may  I  ask,  does  this  leave  me  ?  And  what  cad  gave  that 
story  to  the  papers?  And  where  and  who  is  John  Ar 
mitage  ?  Keep  this  mum  for  the  present — even  from  the 
governor.  If  Sanderson  is  right,  Armitage  will  undoubt 
edly  turn  up  again — he  has  a  weakness  for  turning  up  in 
your  neighborhood ! — and  sooner  or  later  he's  bound  to 
settle  accounts  with  Chauvenet.  Now  that  I  think  of  it, 
who  in  the  devil  is  he!  And  why  didn't  Armitage  call 
him  down  there  at  the  club  ?  As  I  think  over  the  whole 
business  my  mind  grows  addled,  and  I  feel  as  though  I 
had  been  kicked  by  a  horse." 

Shirley  laughed  softly,  keeping  the  note  open  before 
her  and  referring  to  it  musingly  as  she  stirred  her  coffee. 
She  could  not  answer  any  of  Dick's  questions,  but  her 
interest  in  the  contest  between  Armitage  and  Chauvenet 
was  intensified  by  this  latest  turn  in  the  affair.  She  read 
for  an  hour  in  the  library,  but  the  air  was  close,  and  she 
threw  aside  her  book,  drew  on  a  light  coat  and  went  out 


NARROW   MARGINS 

upon  the  veranda.  A  storm  was  stealing  down  from  the 
hills,  and  the  fitful  wind  tasted  of  rain.  She  walked  the 
length  of  the  veranda  several  times,  then  paused  at  the 
farther  end  of  it,  where  steps  led  out  into  the  pergola. 
There  was  still  a  mist  of  starlight,  and  she  looked  out 
upon  the  vague  outlines  of  the  garden  with  thoughts  of 
its  needs  and  the  gardener's  work  for  the  morrow.  Then 
she  was  aware  of  a  light  step  far  out  in  the  pergola,  and 
listened  carelessly  to  mark  it,  thinking  it  one  of  the 
house  servants  returning  from  a  neighbor's;  but  the 
sound  was  furtive,  and  as  she  waited  it  ceased  abruptly. 
She  was  about  to  turn  into  the  house  to  summon  help 
when  she  heard  a  stir  in  the  shrubbery  in  quite  another 
part  of  the  garden,  and  in  a  moment  the  stooping  figure 
of  a  man  moved  swiftly  toward  the  pergola. 

Shirley  stood  quite  still,  watching  and  listening.  The 
sound  of  steps  in  the  pergola  reached  her  again,  then  the 
rush  of  flight,  and  out  in  the  garden  a  flying  figure 
darted  in  and  out  among  the  walks.  For  several  minutes 
two  dark  figures  played  at  vigorous  hide-and-seek.  Oc 
casionally  gravel  crunched  underfoot  and  shrubbery, 
snapped  back  with  a  sharp  swish  where  it  was  caught 
and  held  for  support  at  corners.  Pursued  and  pursuer 
were  alike  silent ;  the  scene  was  like  a  pantomime. 


220         THE    POET   OF   MISSING   MEN 

Then  the  tables  seemed  to  be  turned ;  the  bulkier  fig 
ure  of  the  pursuer  was  now  in  flight;  and  Shirley  lost 
both  for  a  moment,  but  immediately  a  dark  form  rose  at 
the  wall;  she  heard  the  scratch  of  feet  upon  the  brick 
surface  as  a  man  gained  the  top,  turned  and  lifted  his 
arm  as  though  aiming  a  weapon. 

Then  a  dark  object,  hurled  through  the  air,  struck  him 
squarely  in  the  face  and  he  tumbled  over  the  wall,  and 
Shirley  heard  him  crash  through  the  hedge  of  the  neigh 
boring  estate,  then  all  was  quiet  again. 

The  game  of  hide-and-seek  in  the  garden  and  the 
scramble  over  the  wall  had  consumed  only  two  or  three 
minutes,  and  Shirley  now  waited,  her  eyes  bent  upon  the 
darkly-outlined  pergola  for  some  manifestation  from  the 
remaining  intruder.  A  man  now  walked  rapidly  toward 
the  veranda,  carrying  a  cloak  on  his  arm.  She  recog 
nized  Armitage  instantly.  He  doffed  his  hat  and  bowed. 
The  lights  of  the  house  lamps  shone  full  upon  him,  and 
she  saw  that  he  was  laughing  a  little  breathlessly. 

"This  is  really  fortunate,  Miss  Claiborne.  I  owe  your 
house  an  apology,  and  if  you  will  grant  me  audience  I 
will  offer  it  to  you." 

He  threw  the  cloak  over  his  shoulder  and  fanned  him 
self  with  his  hat. 


NARROW   MARGINS  221 

"You  are  a  most  informal  person,  Mr.  Armitage," 
said  Shirley  coldly. 

"I'm  afraid  I  am  !  The  most  amazing  ill  luck  follows 
me !  I  had  dropped  in  to  enjoy  the  quiet  and  charm  of 
your  garden,  but  the  tranquil  life  is  not  for  me.  There 
was  another  gentleman,  equally  bent  on  enjoying  the 
pergola.  We  engaged  in  a  pretty  running  match,  and  be 
cause  I  was  fleeter  of  foot  he  grew  ugly  and  tried  to  put 
me  out  of  commission.*' 

He  was  still  laughing,  but  Shirley  felt  that  he  was 
again  trying  to  make  light  of  a  serious  situation,  and  a 
further  tie  of  secrecy  with  Armitage  was  not  to  her  lik 
ing.  As  he  walked  boldly  to  the  veranda  steps,  she 
stepped  back  from  him. 

"No!  No!  This  is  impossible — it  will  not  do  at  all, 
Mr.  Armitage.  It  is  not  kind  of  you  to  come  here  in  this 
strange  fashion." 

"In  this  way  forsooth !  How  could  I  send  in  my  card 
when  I  was  being  chased  all  over  the  estate !  I  didn't 
mean  to  apologize  for  coming" — and  he  laughed  again, 
with  a  sincere  mirth  that  shook  her  resolution  to  deal 
harshly  with  him.  "But,"  he  went  on,  "it  was  the  flower 
pot!  He  was  mad  because  I  beat  him  in  the  foot-race 
and  wanted  to  shoot  me  from  the  wall,  and  I  tossed  him 


222         THE   POET   OF   MISSING   MEN 

a  potted  geranium — geraniums  are  splendid  for  the  pur 
pose — and  it  caught  him  square  in  the  head.  I  have  the 
knack  of  it !  Once  before  I  handed  him  a  boiling-pot  P 

"It  must  have  hurt  him,"  said  Shirley ;  and  he  laughed 
at  her  tone  that  was  meant  to  be  severe. 

"I  certainly  hope  so ;  I  most  devoutly  hope  he  felt  it ! 
He  was  most  tenderly  solicitous  for  my  health;  and  if 
he  had  really  shot  me  fhere  in  the  garden  it  would  have 
had  an  ugly  look.  Armitage,  the  false  baron,  would  have 
been  identified  as  a  daring  burglar,  shot  while  trying  to 
burglarize  the  Claiborne  mansion !  But  I  wouldn't  take 
the  Claiborne  plate  for  anything,  I  assure  you  P 

"I  suppose  you  didn't  think  of  us — all  of  us,  and  the 
unpleasant  consequences  to  my  father  and  brother  if 
something  disagreeable  happened  here  P 

There  was  real  anxiety  in  her  tone,  and  he  saw  that  he 
was  going  too  far  with  his  light  treatment  of  the  affair. 
His  tone  changed  instantly. 

"Please  forgive  me !  I  would  not  cause  embarrassment 
or  annoyance  to  any  member  of  your  family  for  king 
doms.  I  didn't  know  I  was  being  followed — I  had  come 
here  to  see  you.  That  is  the  truth  of  it." 

"You  mustn't  try  to  see  me !  You  mustn't  come  here 
at  all  unless  you  come  with  the  knowledge  of  my  father. 


NARROW   MARGINS  223 

And  the  very  fact  that  your  life  is  sought  so  persistently 
— at  most  unusual  times  and  in  impossible  places,  leaves 
very  much  to  explain." 

"I  know  that !  I  realize  all  that !" 

"Then  you  must  not  come!  You  must  leave  in 
stantly." 

She  walked  away  toward  the  front  door;  but  he  fol 
lowed,  and  at  the  door  she  turned  to  him  again.  They 
were  in  the  full  glare  of  the  door  lamps,  and  she  saw  that 
his  face  was  very  earnest,  and  as  he  began  to  speak  he 
flinched  and  shifted  the  cloak  awkwardly. 

"You  have  been  hurt — why  did  you  not  tell  me  that  ?" 

"It  is  nothing — the  fellow  had  a  knife,  and  he — but 
it's  only  a  trifle  in  the  shoulder.  I  must  be  off !" 

The  lightning  had  several  times  leaped  sharply 
out  of  the  hills;  the  wind  was  threshing  the  garden 
foliage,  and  now  the  rain  roared  on  the  tin  roof  of  the 
veranda. 

As  he  spoke  a  carriage  rolled  into  the  grounds  and 
came  rapidly  toward  the  porte-cochere. 

"I'm  off — please  believe  in  me — a  little/7 

"You  must  not  go  if  you  are  hurt — and  you  can't  run 
away  now — my  father  and  mother  are  at  the  door." 

There  was  an  instant's  respite  while  the  carriage  drew 


224:        THE   POET    OP   MISSING   MEN 

up  to  the  veranda  steps.  She  heard  the  stable-boy  run 
ning  out  to  help  with  the  horses. 

"You  can't  go  now ;  come  in  and  wait." 

There  was  no  time  for  debate.  She  flung  open  the  door 
and  swept  him  past  her  with  a  gesture — through  the  li 
brary  and  beyond,  into  a  smaller  room  used  by  Judge 
Claiborne  as  an  office.  Armitage  sank  down  on  a  leather 
couch  as  Shirley  flung  the  portieres  together  with  a 
sharp  rattle  of  the  rod  rings. 

She  walked  toward  the  hall  door  as  her  father  and 
mother  entered  from  the  veranda. 

"Ah,  Miss  Claiborne !  Your  father  and  mother  picked 
me  up  and  brought  me  in  out  of  the  rain.  Your  Storm 
Valley  is  giving  us  a  taste  of  its  powers." 

And  Shirley  went  forward  to  greet  Baron  von  Marhof. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A  GENTLEMAN   IN   HIDING 

Oh,  sweetly  fall  the  April  days! 

My  love  was  made  of  frost  and  light, 
Of  light  to  warm  and  frost  to  blight 

The  sweet,  strange  April  of  her  ways. 

Eyes  like  a  dream  of  changing  skies, 

And  every  frown  and  blush  I  prize. 
With  cloud  and  flush  the  spring  comes  in, 
With  frown  and  blush  maids'  loves  begin; 

For  love  is  rare  like  April  days. 

— L.  Frank  Tooker. 

Mrs.  Claiborne  excused  herself  shortly,  and  Shirley, 
her  fatner  and  the  Ambassador  talked  to  the  accompani 
ment  of  the  shower  that  drove  in  great  sheets  against 
the  house.  Shirley  was  wholly  uncomfortable  over  the 
turn  of  affairs.  The  Ambassador  would  not  leave  until 
the  storm  abated,  and  meanwhile  Armitage  must  remain 
where  he  was.  If  by  any  chance  he  should  be  discovered 
in  the  house  no  ordinary  excuses  would  explain  away  his 
presence,  and  as  she  pondered  the  matter,  it  was  Armi- 
tage's  plight — his  injuries  and  the  dangers  that  beset 


226         THE   PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

him — that  was  uppermost  in  her  mind.  The  embarrass 
ment  that  lay  in  the  affair  for  herself  if  Armitage  should 
be  found  concealed  in  the  house  troubled  her  little.  Her 
heart  beat  wildly  as  she  realized  this;  and  the  look  in 
his  eyes  and  the  quick  pain  that  twitched  his  face  at  the 
door  haunted  her. 

The  two  men  were  talking  of  the  new  order  of  things 
in  Vienna. 

"The  trouble  is/'  said  the  Ambassador,  "that  Austria- 
Hungary  is  not  a  nation,  but  what  Metternich  called 
Italy — a  geographical  expression.  Where  there  are  so 
many  loose  ends  a  strong  grasp  is  necessary  to  hold  them 
together." 

"And  a  weak  hand,"  suggested  Judge  Claiborne, 
"might  easily  lose  or  scatter  them." 

"Precisely.  And  a  man  of  character  and  spirit  could 
topple  down  the  card-house  to-morrow,  pick  out  what  he 
liked,  and  create  for  himself  a  new  edifice — and  a 
stronger  one.  I  speak  frankly.  Von  Stroebel  is  out  of 
the  way;  the  new  Emperor-king  is  a  weakling,  and  if 
he  should  die  to-night  or  to-morrow — " 

The  Ambassador  lifted  his  hands  and  snapped  his  fin 
gers. 

"Yes;  after  him,  what?" 


A   GENTLEMAN   IN   HIDING  227 

"After  him  his  scoundrelly  cousin  Francis;  and  then 
a  stronger  than  Von  Stroebel  might  easily  fail  to  hold 
the  disjecta  membra  of  the  Empire  together." 

'•'But  there  are  shadows  on  the  screen,"  remarked 
Judge  Claiborne.  "There  was  Karl — the  mad  prince." 

"Humph !  There  was  some  red  blood  in  him ;  but  he 
was  impossible;  he  had  a  taint  of  democracy,  treason, 
rebellion." 

Judge  Claiborne  laughed. 

"I  don't  like  the  combination  of  terms.  If  treason  and 
rebellion  are  synonyms  of  democracy,  we  Americans  are 
in  danger." 

"No ;  you  are  a  miracle — that  is  the  only  explanation," 
replied  Marhof. 

"But  a  man  like  Karl — what  if  he  were  to  reappear  in 
the  world !  A  little  democracy  might  solve  your  prob 
lem." 

"No,  thank  God !  he  is  out  of  the  way.  He  was  sane 
enough  to  take  himself  off  and  die." 

"But  his  ghost  walks.  Not  a  year  ago  we  heard  of 
him;  and  he  had  a  son  who  chose  his  father's  exile. 
What  if  Charles  Louis,  who  is  without  heirs,  should  die 
and  Karl  or  his  son — " 

"In  the  providence  of  God  they  are  dead.  Impostors 


228         THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN" 

gain  a  little  brief  notoriety  by  pretending  to  be  the  lost 
Karl  or  his  son  Frederick  Augustus;  but  Von  Stroebel 
satisfied  himself  that  Karl  was  dead.  I  am  quite  sure  of 
it.  You  know  dear  Stroebel  had  a  genius  for  gaining  in 
formation." 

"I  have  heard  as  much,"  and  Shirley  and  the  Baron 
smiled  at  Judge  Claiborne's  tone. 

The  storm  was  diminishing  and  Shirley  grew  more 
tranquil.  Soon  the  Ambassador  would  leave  and  she 
would 'Send  Armitage  away;  but  the  mention  of  Stroe- 
bel's  name  rang  oddly  in  her  ears,  and  the  curious  way 
in  which  Armitage  and  Chauvenet  had  c°tne  into  her 
life  awoke  new  and  anxious  questions. 

"Count  von  Stroebel  was  not  a  democrat,  at  any  rate/' 
she  said.  "He  believed  in  the  divine  right  and  all  that." 

"So  do  I,  Miss  Claiborne.  It's  all  we've  got  to  stand 
on!" 

"But  suppose  a  democratic  prince  were  to  fall  heir  to 
one  of  the  European  thrones,  insist  on  giving  his  crown 
to  the  poor  and  taking  his  oath  in  a  frock  coat,  upsetting 
the  old  order  entirely — " 

"He  would  be  a  fool,  and  the  people  would  drag  him 
to  the  block  in  a  week,"  declared  the  Baron  vigorously. 

They  pursued  the  subject  in  lighter  vein  a  few  min- 


229 

utes  longer,  then  the  Baron  rose.  Judge  Claiborne  sum 
moned  the  waiting  carriage  from  the  stable,  and  the 
Baron  drove  home. 

"I  ought  to  work  for  an  hour  on  that  Danish  claims 
matter,"  remarked  the  Judge,  glancing  toward  his  cur 
tained  den. 

"You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind !  Night  work  is  not 
permitted  in  the  valley/' 

"Thank  you !  I  hoped  you  would  say  that,  Shirley.  I 
believe  I  am  tired ;  and  now  if  you  will  find  a  magazine 
for  me,  I'll  go  to  bed.  Eing  for  Thomas  to  close  the 
house." 

"I  have  a  few  notes  to  write ;  they'll  take  only  a  min 
ute,  and  I'll  write  them  here." 

She  heard  her  father's  door  close,  listened  to  be  quite 
sure  that  the  house  was  quiet,  and  threw  back  the  cur 
tains.  Armitage  stepped  out  into  the  library. 

"You  must  go — you  must  go !"  she  whispered  with 
deep  tensity. 

"Yes ;  I  must  go.  You  have  been  kind — you  are  most 
generous — " 

But  she  went  before  him  to  the  hall,  waited,  listened, 
for  one  instant;  then  threw  open  the  outer  door  and 
bade  him  go.  The  rain  dripped  heavily  from  the  eaves, 


230         THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

and  the  cool  breath  of  the  freshened  air  was  sweet  and 
stimulating.  She  was  immensely  relieved  to  have  him 
out  of  the  house,  but  he  lingered  on  the  veranda,  staring 
helplessly  about. 

"I  shall  go  home,"  he  safd,  but  so  unsteadily  that  she 
looked  at  him  quickly.  He  carried  the  cloak  flung  over 
his  shoulder  and  in  readjusting  it  dropped  it  to  the 
floor,  and  she  saw  in  the  light  of  the  door  lamps  that  his 
Arm  hung  limp  at  his  side  and  the  gray  cloth  of  his 
sleeve  was  heavy  and  dark  with  blood.  With  a  quick  ges 
ture  she  stooped  and  picked  up  the  cloak. 

"Come !  Come !  This  is  all  very  dreadful — you  must 
go  to  a  physician  at  once." 

"My  man  and  horse  are  waiting  for  me ;  the  injury  is 
nothing."  But  she  threw  the  cloak  over  his  shoulders 
and  led  the  way,  across  the  veranda,  and  out  upon  the 
walk. 

"I  do  not  need  the  doctor — not  now.  My  man  will 
care  for  me." 

He  started  through  the  dark  toward  the  outer  wall,  as 
though  confused,  and  she  went  before  him  toward  the 
side  entrance.  He  was  aware  of  her  quick  light  step,  of 
the  soft  rustle  of  her  skirts,  of  a  wish  to  send  her  back, 
which  his  tongue  could  not  voice;  but  he  knew  that  it 


A    GENTLEMAN   IN   HIDING  231 

was  sweet  to  follow  her  leading.  At  the  gate  he  took  his 
bearings  with  a  new  assurance  and  strength. 

"It  seems  that  I  always  appear  to  you  in  some  miser 
able  fashion — it  is  preposterous  for  me  to  ask  forgive 
ness.  To  thank  you — " 

"Please  say  nothing  at  all — but  go!  Your  enemies 
must  not  find  you  here  again — you  must  leave  the  val- 
ley!" 

"I  have  a  work  to  do !  But  it  must  not  touch  your  life. 
Your  happiness  is  too  much,  too  sweet  to  me." 

"You  must  leave  the  bungalow — I  found  out  to-day 
where  you  are  staying.  There  is  a  new  danger  there — the 
mountain  people  think  you  are  a  revenue  officer.  I  told 
one  of  them — " 

"Yes?" 

" — that  you  are  not!  That  is  enough.  Now  hurry 
away.  You  must  find  your  horse  and  go." 

He  bent  and  kissed  her  hand. 

"You  trust  me ;  that  is  the  dearest  thing  in  the  world." 
His  voice  faltered  and  broke  in  a  sob,  for  he  was  worn 
and  weak,  and  the  mystery  of  the  night  and  the  dark 
silent  garden  wove  a  spell  upon  him  and  his  heart 
leaped  at  the  touch  of  his  lips  upon  her  fingers.  Their 
figures  were  only  blurs  in  the  dark,  and  their  low  tones 


233         THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

died  instantly,  muffled  by  the  night.  She  opened  the 
gate  as  he  began  to  promise  not  to  appear  before  her 
again  in  any  way  to  bring  her  trouble;  but  her  low 
whisper  arrested  him. 

"Do  not  let  them  hurt  you  again — "  she  said ;  and  ho 
felt  her  hand  seek  his,  felt  its  cool  furtive  pressure  for  a 
moment;  and  then  she  was  gone.  He  heard  the  house 
door  close  a  moment  later,  and  gazing  across  the  garden, 
saw  the  lights  on  the  veranda  flash  out. 

Then  with  a  smile  on  his  face  he  strode  away  to  find 
Oscar  and  the  horses. 


AN   EXCHANGE   OP   MESSAGES 

When  youth  was  lord  of  my  unchallenged  fate, 
And  time  seemed  but  the  vassal  of  my  will, 

I  entertained  certain  guests  of  state — 
The  great  of  older  days,  who,  faithful  still, 

Have  kept  with  me  the  pact  my  youth  had  made. 

—S.  Weir  Mitchell.  ' 

"Who  am  I'?"  asked  John  Armitage  soberly. 

He  tossed  the  stick  of  a  match  into  the  fireplace,  where 
a  pine-knot  smoldered,  drew  his  pipe  into  a  glow  and 
watched  Oscar  screw  the  top  on  a  box  of  ointment  which 
he  had  applied  to  Armitage's  arm.  The  little  soldier 
turned  and  stood  sharply  at  attention. 

"You  are  Mr.  John  Armitage,  sir.  A  man's  name  is 
what  he  says  it  is.  It  is  the  rule  of  the  country." 

"Thank  you,  Oscar.  Your  words  reassure  me.  There 
have  been  times  lately  when  I  have  been  in  doubt  my 
self.  You  are  a  pretty  good  doctor." 

"First  aid  to  the  injured ;  I  learned  the  trick  from  a 
hospital  steward.  If  you  are  not  poisoned,  and  do  not 
die,  you  will  recover — yes  ?" 

233 


234         THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

"Thank  you,  Sergeant.  You  are  a  consoling  spirit; 
but  I  assure  you  on  my  honor  as  a  gentleman  that  if  I 
die  I  shall  certainly  haunt  you.  This  is  the  fourth  day. 
To-morrow  I  shall  throw  away  the  bandage  and  be  quite 
ready  for  more  trouble." 

"It  would  be  better  on  the  fifth—" 

"The  matter  is  settled.  You  will  now  go  for  the  mail ; 
and  do  take  care  that  no  one  pots  you  on  the  way.  Your 
death  would  be  a  positive  loss  to  me,  Oscar.  And  if  any 
one  asks  how  My  Majesty  is — mark,  My  Majesty — pray 
say  that  I  am  quite  well  and  equal  to  ruling  over  many 
kingdoms." 

"Yes,  sire." 

And  Armitage  roared  with  laughter,  as  the  little  man, 
pausing  as  he  buckled  a  cartridge  belt  under  his  coat, 
bowed  with  a  fine  mockery  of  reverence. 

"If  a  man  were  king  he  could  have  a  devilish  fine  time 
of  it,  Oscar." 

"He  could  review  many  troops  and  they  would  fire 
salutes  until  the  powder  cost  much  money." 

"You  are  mighty  right,  as  we  say  in  Montana;  and 
I'll  tell  you  quite  confidentially,  Sergeant,  that  if  I  were 
out  of  work  and  money  and  needed  a  job  the  thought  of 
being  king  might  tempt  me.  These  gentlemen  who  are 


AN   EXCHANGE    OF   MESSAGES'        235 

trying  to  stick  knives  into  me  think  highly  of  my 
chances.  They  may  force  me  into  the  business — "  and 
Armitage  rose  and  kicked  the  flaring  knot. 

Oscar  drew  on  his  gauntlet  with  a  jerk. 

"They  killed  the  great  prime  minister — yes  ?" 

"They  undoubtedly  did,  Oscar." 

"He  was  a  good  man — he  was  a  very  great  man/'  said 
Oscar  slowly,  and  went  quickly  out  and  closed  the  door 
softly  after  him. 

The  life  of  the  two  men  in  the  bungalow  was  estab 
lished  in  a  definite  routine.  Oscar  was  drilled  in  habits 
of  observation  and  attention  and  he  realized  without  be 
ing  told  that  some  serious  business  was  afoot;  he  knew 
that  Armitage's  life  had  been  attempted,  and  that  the 
receipt  and  despatch  of  telegrams  was  a  part  of  whatever 
errand  nad  brought  his  master  to  the  Virginia  hills. 
His  occupations  were  wholly  to  his  liking;  there  was 
simple  food  to  eat;  there  were  horses  to  tend;  and  his 
errands  abroad  were  of  the  nature  of  scouting  and  in 
keeping  with  one's  dignify  who  had  been  a  soldier.  He 
rose  often  at  night  to  look  abroad,  and  sometimes  he 
found  Armitage  walking  the  veranda  or  returning  from 
a  tramp  through  the  wood.  Armitage  spent  much  time 
studying  papers ;  and  once,  the  day  after  Armitage  sub- 


236         THE   POET    OF   MISSING   MEtf 

mitted  his  wounded  arm  to  Oscar's  care,  he  ha<J  seemec! 
upon  the  verge  of  a  confidence. 

"To  save  life ;  to  prevent  disaster ;  to  do  a  little  good 
in  the  world — to  do  something  for  Austria — such  things 
are  to  the  soul's  credit,  Oscar,"  and  then  Armitage's 
mood  changed  and  he  had  begun  chaffing  in  a  fashion 
that  was  beyond  Oscar's  comprehension. 

The  little  soldier  rode  over  the  hills  to  Lamar  Sta 
tion  in  the  waning  spring  twilight,  asked  at  the  tele 
graph  office  for  messages,  stuffed  Armitage's  mail  into 
his  pockets  at  the  post-office,  and  turned  home  as  the 
moonlight  poured  down  the  slopes  and  flooded  the  val 
leys.  The  Virginia  roads  have  been  cursed  by  larger  ar 
mies  than  any  that  ever  marched  in  Flanders,  but  Oscar 
was  not  a  swearing  man.  He  paused  to  rest  his  beast 
occasionally  and  to  observe  the  landscape  with  the  eye 
of  a  strategist.  Moonlight,  he  remembered,  was  a  useful 
accessory  of  the  assassin's  trade,  and  the  faint  sounds 
of  the  spring  night  were  all  promptly  traced  to  their 
causes  as  they  reached  his  alert  ears. 

At  the  gate  of  the  hunting-park  grounds  he  bent  for 
ward  in  the  saddle  to  lift  the  chain  that  held  it ;  urged 
his  horse  inside,  bent  down  to  refasten  it,  and  as  his 
fingers  clutched  the  iron  a  man  rose  in  the  shadow  of 


AN   EXCHANGE    OF    MESSAGES        237 

the  little  lodge  and  clasped  him  about  the  middle.  The 
iron  chain  swung  free  and  rattled  against  the  post,  and 
the  horse  snorted  with  fright,  then,  at  a  word  from  Os 
car,  was  still.  There  was  the  barest  second  of  waiting, 
in  which  the  long  arms  tightened,  and  the  great  body  of 
his  assailant  hung  heavily  about  him ;  then  he  dug  spurs 
into  the  horse's  flanks  and  the  animal  leaped  forward 
with  a  snort  of  rage,  jumped  out  of  the  path  and  tore 
away  through  the  woods. 

Oscar's  whole  strength  was  taxed  to  hold  his  seat  as 
the  burly  figure  thumped  against  the  horse's  flanks.  He 
had  hoped  to  shake  the  man  off,  but  the  great  arms  still 
clasped  him.  The  situation  could  not  last.  Oscar  took 
advantage  of  the  moonlight  to  choose  a  spot  in  which  to 
terminate  it.  He  had  his  bearings  now,  and  as  they 
crossed  an  opening  in  the  wood  he  suddenly  loosened 
his  grip  on  the  horse  and  flung  himself  backward.  His 
assailant,  no  longer  supported,  rolled  to  the  ground  with 
Oscar  on  top  of  him,  and  the  freed  horse  galloped  away 
toward  the  stable. 

A  rough  and  tumble  fight  now  followed.  Oscar's  lithe, 
vigorous  body  writhed  in  the  grasp  of  his  antagonist, 
now  free,  now  clasped  by  giant  arms.  They  saw  each 
other's  faces  plainly  in  the  clear  moonlight,  and  at 


238         THE   POET    OP   MISSING   MEN 

breathless  pauses  in  the  struggle  their  eyes  maintained 
the  state  of  war.  At  one  instant,  when  both  men  lay 
with  arms  interlocked,  half-lying  on  their  thighs,  Oscar 
hissed  in  the  giant's  ear  : 

"You  are  a  Servian :  it  is  an  ugly  race." 

And  the  Servian  cursed  him  in  a  fierce  growl. 

"We  expected  you;  you  are  a  bad  hand  with  the 
knife/'  grunted  Oscar,  and  feeling  the  bellows-like 
chest  beside  him  expand,  as  though  in  preparation 
for  a  renewal  of  the  fight,  he  suddenly  wrenched  him 
self  free  of  the  Servian's  grasp,  leaped  away  a  dozen 
paces  to  the  shelter  of  a  great  pine,  and  turned,  revolver 
in  hand. 

"Throw  up  your  hands,"  he  yelled. 

The  Servian  fired  without  pausing  for  aim,  the  shot 
ringing  out  sharply  through  the  wood.  Then  Oscar  dis 
charged  his  revolver  three  times  in  quick  succession,  and 
while  the  discharges  were  still  keen  on  the  air  he  drew 
quickly  back  to  a  clump  of  underbrush,  and  crept  away 
a  dozen  yards  to  watch  events.  The  Servian,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  tree  behind  which  his  adversary  had 
sought  shelter,  grew  anxious,  and  thrust  his  head  for 
ward  warily. 

Then  he  heard  a  sound  as  of  some  one  running 


AN   EXCHANGE   OF   MESSAGES        239 

through  the  wood  to  the  left  and  behind  him,  but  still 
the  man  he  had  grappled  on  the  horse  made  no  sign.  It 
dawned  upon  him  that  the  three  shots  fired  in  front  of 
him  had  been  a  signal,  and  in  alarm  he  turned  toward 
the  gate,  but  a  voice  near  at  hand  called  loudly,  "Oscar  !"^ 
and  repeated  the  name  several  times. 

Behind  the  Servian  the  little  soldier  answered  sharply 
in  English : 

"All  steady,  sir!" 

The  use  of  a  strange  tongue  added  to  the  Servian's 
bewilderment,  and  he  fled  toward  the  gate,  with  Oscar 
hard  after  him.  Then  Armitage  suddenly  leaped  out  of 
the  shadows  directly  in  his  path  and  stopped  him  with  a 
leveled  revolver. 

"Easy  work,  Oscar !  Take  the  gentleman's  gun  and  be 
sure  to  find  his  knife." 

The  task  was  to  Oscar's  taste,  and  he  made  quick 
work  of  the  Servian's  pockets. 

"Your  horse  was  a  good  despatch  bearer.  You  are  all 
sound,  Oscar?" 

"Never  better,  sir.  A  revolver  and  two  knives — "  the 
weapons  flashed  in  the  moonlight  as  he  held  them  up. 

"Good !  Now  start  your  friend  toward  the  bungalow." 

They  set  off  at  a  quick  pace,  soon  found  the  rough 


240         THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

driveway,  and  trudged  along  silently,  the  Servian  be 
tween  his  captors. 

When  they  reached  the  house  Armitage  flung  open  the 
door  and  followed  Oscar  and  the  prisoner  into  the  long 
sitting-room. 

Armitage  lighted  a  pipe  at  the  mantel,  readjusted  the 
bandage  on  his  arm,  and  laughed  aloud  as  he  looked 
upon  the  huge  figure  of  the  Servian  standing  beside  the 
sober  little  cavalryman. 

"Oscar,  there  are  certainly  giants  in  these  days,  and 
we  have  caught  one.  You  will  please  see  that  the  cylin 
der  of  your  revolver  is  in  good  order  and  prepare  to  act 
as  clerk  of  our  court-martial.  If  the  prisoner  moves, 
shoot  him." 

He  spoke  these  last  words  very  deliberately  in  German, 
and  the  Servian's  small  eyes  blinked  his  comprehension. 
Armitage  sat  down  on  the  writing-table,  with  his  own 
revolver  and  the  prisoner's  knives  and  pistol  within 
reach  of  his  available  hand.  A  smile  of  amusement 
played  over  his  face  as  he  scrutinized  the  big  body  and 
its  small,  bullet-like  head. 

"He  is  a  large  devil,"  commented  Oscar. 

"He  is  large,  certainly,"  remarked  Armitage.  "Give 
him  a  chair.  Now,"  he  said  to  the  man  in  deliberate 


AN   EXCHANGE    OF   MESSAGES        241 

German,  "I  shall  say  a  few  things  to  you  which  I 
am  very  anxious  for  you  to  understand.  You  are  a 
Servian/7 

The  man  nodded. 

"Your  name  is  Zmai  Miletich." 

The  man  shifted  his  great  bulk  uneasily  in  his  chair 
and  fastened  his  lusterless  little  eyes  upon  Armitage. 

"Your  name/'  repeated  Armitage,  "is  Zmai  Miletich ; 
your  home  is,  or  was,  in  the  village  of  Toplica,  where 
you  were  a  blacksmith  until  you  became  a  thief.  You 
are  employed  as  an  assassin  by  two  gentlemen  known  as 
Chauvenet  and  Durand — do  you  follow  me  ?" 

The  man  was  indeed  following  him  with  deep  engross 
ment.  His  narrow  forehead  was  drawn  into  minute 
wrinkles ;  his  small  eyes  seemed  to  recede  into  his  head ; 
his  great  body  turned  uneasily. 

"I  ask  you  again,"  repeated  Armitage,  "whether  you 
follow  me.  There  must  be  no  mistake." 

Oscar,  anxious  to  take  his  own  part  in  the  conversa 
tion,  prodded  Zmai  in  the  ribs  with  a  pistol  barrel,  and 
the  big  fellow  growled  and  nodded  his  head. 

"There  is  a  house  in  the  outskirts  of  Vienna  where 
you  have  been  employed  at  times  as  gardener,  and  an 
other  house  in  Geneva  where  vou  wait  for  orders.  At  this 


242         THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

latter  place  it  was  my  great  pleasure  to  smash  you  in  the 
head  with  a  boiling-pot  on  a  certain  evening  in  March." 

The  man  scowled  and  ejaculated  an  oath  with  so  much 
Tenom  that  Armitage  laughed. 

"Your  conspirators  are  engaged  upon  a  succession  of 
murders,  and  when  they  have  removed  the  last  obstacle 
they  will  establish  a  new  Emperor-king  in  Vienna  and 
you  will  receive  a  substantial  reward  for  what  you  have 
done—" 

The  blood  suffused  the  man's  dark  face,  and  he  half 
rose,  a  great  roar  of  angry  denial  breaking  from  him. 

"That  will  do.  You  tried  to  kill  me  on  the  King  Ed 
ward;  you  tried  your  knife  on  me  again  down  there  in 
Judge  Claiborne's  garden;  and  you  came  up  here  to 
night  with  a  plan  to  kill  my  man  and  then  take  your 
time  to  me.  Give  me  the  mail,  Oscar." 

He  opened  the  letters  which  Oscar  had  brought  and 
scanned  several  that  bore  a  Paris  postmark,  and  when  he 
had  pondered  their  contents  a  moment  he  laughed  and 
jumped  from  the  table.  He  brought  a  portfolio  from 
his  bedroom  and  sat  down  to  write. 

""Don't  shoot  the  gentleman  as  long  as  he  is  quiet.  You 
may  even  give  him  a  glass  of  whisky  to  soothe  his  f eel- 

»  «n 

mas.'9- 


AN   EXCHANGE    OF   MESSAGES        243 
Armitage  wrote: 

"MONSIEUR  : 

"Your  assassin  is  a  clumsy  fellow  and 
you  will  do  well  to  send  him  back  to  the  blacksmith 
shop  at  Toplica.  I  learn  that  Monsieur  Durand,  dis 
tressed  by  the  delay  in  affairs  in  America,  will  soon  join 
you — is  even  now  aboard  the  Tacoma,  bound  for  New 
York.  I  am  profoundly  grateful  for  this,  dear  Monsieur, 
as  it  gives  me  an  opportunity  to  conclude  our  interesting 
business  in  republican  territory  without  prejudice  to  any 
of  the  parties  chiefly  concerned. 

"You  are  a  clever  and  daring  rogue,  yet  at  times  you 
strike  me  as  immensely  dull,  Monsieur.  Ponder  this: 
should  it  seem  expedient  for  me  to  establish  my  identity 
— which  I  am  sure  interests  you  greatly — before  Baron 
von  Marhof,  and,  we  will  add,  the  American  Secretary  of 
State,  be  quite  sure  that  I  shall  not  do  so  until  I  have 
taken  precautions  against  your  departure  in  any  un 
seemly  haste.  I,  myself,  dear  friend,  am  not  without  a 
certain  facility  in  setting  traps." 

Armitage  threw  down  the  pen  and  read  what  he  had 
written  with  care.  Then  he  wrote  as  signature  the  ini 
tials  F.  A.,  inclosed  the  note  in  an  envelope  and  ad 
dressed  it,  pondered  again,  laughed  and  slapped  his 
knee  and  went  into  his  room,  where  he  rummaged  about 


244         THE   PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

until  he  found  a  small  seal  beautifully  wrought  in  bronzie 
and  a  bit  of  wax.  Returning  to  the  table  he  lighted  a 
candle,  and  deftly  sealed  the  letter.  He  held  the  red 
scar  on  the  back  of  the  envelope  to  the  lamp  and  exam 
ined  it  with  interest.  The  lines  of  the  seal  were  deep 
cut,  and  the  impression  was  perfectly  distinct,  of  F.  A. 
in  English  script,  linked  together  by  the  bar  of  the  F. 

"Oscar,  what  do  you  recommend  that  we  do  with  the 
prisoner  ?" 

"He  should  be  tied  to  a  tree  and  shot ;  or,  perhaps,  it 
would  be  better  to  hang  him  to  the  rafters  in  the  kitchen. 
Yet  he  is  heavy  and  might  pull  down  the  roof." 

"'You  are  a  bloodthirsty  wretch,  and  there  is  no  mercy 
in  you.  Private  executions  are  not  allowed  in  this  coun 
try  ;  you  would  have  us  before  a  Virginia  grand  jury  and 
our  own  necks  stretched.  No ;  we  shall  send  him  back  to 
his  master." 

"It  is  a  mistake.  If  your  Excellency  would  go  away 
for  an  hour  he  should  never  know  where  the  buzzards 
found  this  large  carcass." 

"Tush!  I  would  not  trust  his  valuable  life  to  you. 
Get  up !"  he  commanded,  and  Oscar  jerked  Zmai  to  his 
feet. 

"You  deserve  nothing  at  my  hands,  but  I  need  a  dis- 


AX   EXCHANGE   OF   MESSAGES    .      245 

erect  messenger,  and  you  shall  not  die  to-night,  as  my 
worthy  adjutant  recommends.  To-morrow  night,  how 
ever,  or  the  following  night — or  any  other  old  night,  as 
we  say  in  America — if  you  show  yourself  in  these  hills, 
my  chief  of  staff  shall  have  his  way  with  you — buzzard 
meat!" 

"The  orders  are  understood,"  said  Oscar,  thrusting 
the  revolver  into  the  giant's  ribs. 

"Now,  Zmai,  blacksmith  of  Toplica,  and  assassin  at 
large,  here  is  a  letter  for  Monsieur  Chauvenet.  It  is  still 
early.  When  you  have  delivered  it,  bring  me  back  the 
envelope  with  Monsieur's  receipt  written  right  here, 
under  the  seal.  Do  you  understand  ?" 

It  had  begun  to  dawn  upon  Zmai  that  his  life  was  not 
in  immediate  danger,  and  the  light  of  intelligence  kin 
dled  again  in  his  strange  little  eyes.  Lest  he  might  not 
fully  grasp  the  errand  with  which  Annitage  intrusted 
him,  Oscar  repeated  what  Armitage  had  said  in  some 
what  coarser  terms. 

Again  through  the  moonlight  strode  the  three — out 
of  Armitage's  land  to  the  valley  road  and  to  the  same 
point  to  which  Shirley  Claiborne  had  only  a  few  days 
before  been  escorted  by  the  mountaineer. 

There  they  sent  the  Servian  forward  to  the  Springs, 


246         THE    PORT   OF   MISSING   MEN" 

and  Armitage  went  home,  leaving  Oscar  to  wait  for  the 
return  of  the  receipt. 

It  was  after  midnight  when  Oscar  placed  it  in  Armi- 
tage's  hands  at  the  bungalow. 

"Oscar,  it  would  be  a  dreadful  thing  to  kill  a  man," 
Armitage  declared,  holding  the  empty  envelope  to  the 
light  and  reading  the  line  scrawled  beneath  the  un 
broken  wax.  It  was  in  French : 

"You  are  young  to  die,  Monsieur." 

"A  man  more  or  less  I"  and  Oscar  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders. 

"You  are  not  a  good  churchman.  It  is  a  grievous  sin 
to  do  murder." 

"One  may  repent ;  it  is  so  written.  The  people  of  your 
house  are  Catholics  also." 

"That  is  quite  true,  though  I  may  seem  to  forget  it. 
Our  work  will  be  done  soon,  please  God,  and  we  shall  ask 
the  blessed  sacrament  somewhere  in  these  hills." 

Oscar  crossed  himself  and  fell  to  cleaning  his  rifle. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

CAPTAIX  CLAIBOEXE  ON  DUTY 

When  he  came  where  the  trees  were  thin, 
The  moon  sat  waiting  there  to  see; 
On  her  worn  palm  she  laid  her  chin, 
And  laughed  awhile  in  sober  glee 
To  think  how  strong  this  knight  had  been. 

— William  Vaughn  Moody. 

In  some  mystification  Captain  Kichard  Claiborne 
packed  a  suit-case  in  his  quarters  at  Fort  Myer.  Being  a 
soldier,  he  obeyed  orders ;  but  being  human,  he  was  also 
possessed  of  a  degree  of  curiosity.  He  did  not  know  just 
the  series  of  incidents  and  conferences  that  preceded  his 
summons  to  Washington,  but  they  may  be  summarized 
thus: 

Baron  von  Marhof  was  a  cautious  man.  When  the 
young  gentlemen  of  his  legation  spoke  to  him  in  awed 
whispers  .of  a  cigarette  case  bearing  an  extraordinary 
device  that  had  been  seen  in  Washington  he  laughed 
them  away;  then,  possessing  a  curious  and  thorough 
mind,  he  read  all  the  press  clippings  relating  to  the 

247 


false  Baron  von  Kissel,  and  studied  the  heraldic  em 
blems  of  the  Schomburgs.  As  he  pondered,  he  regretted 
the  death  of  his  eminent  brother-in-law,  Count  Ferdi 
nand  von  Stroebel,  who  was  not  a  man  to  stumble  over 
so  negligible  a  trifle  as  a  cigarette  case.  But  Von  Mar- 
hof  himself  was  not  without  resources.  He  told  the  gen 
tlemen  of  his  suite  that  he  had  satisfied  himself  that 
there  was  nothing  in  the  Armitage  mystery;  then  he 
cabled  Vienna  discreetly  for  a  few  days,  and  finally  con 
sulted  Hilton  Claiborne,  the  embassy's  counsel,  at  the 
Claiborne  home  at  Storm  Springs. 

They  had  both  gone  hurriedly  to  Washington,  where 
they  held  a  long  conference  with  the  Secretary  of  State. 
Then  the  state  department  called  the  war  department  by 
telephone,  and  quickly  down  the  line  to  the  commanding 
officer  at  Fort  Myer  went  a  special  assignment  for  Cap 
tain  Claiborne  to  report  to  the  Secretary  of  State.  A 
great  deal  of  perfectly  sound  red  tape  was  reduced  to 
minute  particles  in  these  manipulations ;  but  Baron  von 
Marhof's  business  was  urgent;  it  was  also  of  a  private 
and  wholly  confidential  character.  Therefore,  he  re 
turned  to  his  cottage  at  Storm  Springs,  and  the  Wash 
ington  papers  stated  that  he  was  ill  and  had  gone  back 
to  Virginia  to  take  the  waters. 


CAPTAIN   CLAIBOENE   ON   DUTY      249 

The  Claiborne  house  was  the  pleasantest  place  in 
Storm  Valley,  and  the  library  a  comfortable  place  for  a 
conference.  Dick  Claiborne  caught  the  gravity  of  the 
older  men  as  they  unfolded  to  him  the  task  for  which 
they  had  asked  his  services.  The  Baron  stated  the  case 
in  these  words : 

"You  know  and  have  talked  with  this  man  Armitage ; 
you  saw  the  device  on  the  cigarette  case ;  and  asked  an 
explanation,  which  he  refused;  and  you  know  also 
Chauvenet,  whom  we  suspect  of  complicity  with  the 
conspirators  at  home.  Armitage  is  not  the  false  Baron 
von  Kissel — we  have  established  that  from  Senator  San 
derson  beyond  question.  But  Sanderson's  knowledge  of 
the  man  is  of  comparatively  recent  date — going  back 
about  five  years  to  the  time  Armitage  purchased  his 
Montana  ranch.  Whoever  Armitage  may  be,  he  pays  his 
bills;  he  conducts  himself  like  a  gentleman;  he  travels 
at  will,  and  people  who  meet  him  say  a  good  word  for 
him." 

"He  is  an  agreeable  man  and  remarkably  well  posted 
in  European  politics,"  said  Judge  Claiborne.  "I  talked 
with  him  a  number  of  times  on  the  King  Edward  and 
must  say  that  I  liked  him." 

"Chauvenet  evidently  knows  him ;  there  was  undoubt- 


250         THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

edly  something  back  of  that  little  trick  at  my  supper 
party  at  the  Army  and  Navy,"  said  Dick. 

"It  might  be  explained —  "  began  the  Baron ;  then  he 
paused  and  looked  from  father  to  son.  "Pardon  me,  but 
they  both  manifest  some  interest  in  Miss  Claiborne." 

"We  met  them  abroad,"  said  Dick;  "and  they  both 
turned  up  again  in  Washington." 

"One  of  them  is  here,  or  has  been  here  in  the  valley 
— why  not  the  other  ?"  asked  Judge  Claiborne. 

"But,  of  course,  Shirley  knows  nothing  of  Armitage's 
whereabouts,"  Dick  protested. 

"Certainly  not,"  declared  his  father. 

"How  did  you  make  Armitage's  acquaintance  ?"  asked 
the  Ambassador.  "Some  one  must  have  been  responsible 
for  introducing  him — if  you  can  remember." 

Dick  laughed. 

"It  was  in  the  Monte  Eosa,  at  Geneva.  Shirley  and  I 
had  been  chaffing  each  other  about  the  persistence  with 
which  Armitage  seemed  to  follow  us.  He  was  taking 
dejeuner  at  the  same  hour,  and  he  passed  us  going  out. 
Old  Arthur  Singleton — the  ubiquitous — was  talking  to 
us,  and  he  nailed  Armitage  with  his  customary  zeal  and 
introduced  him  to  us  in  quite  the  usual  American  fash 
ion.  Later  I  asked  Singleton  who  he  was  and  he  knew 


CLAIBOENE   ON   DUTY       251 

nothing  about  him.  Then  Armitage  turned  up  on  the 
steamer,  where  he  made  himself  most  agreeable.  Next,. 
Senator  Sanderson  vouched  for  him  as  one  of  his  Mon 
tana  constituents.  You  know  the  rest  of  the  story.  I 
swallowed  him  whole ;  he  called  at  our  house  on  several 
occasions,  and  came  to  the  post,  and  I  asked  him  to  my 
supper  for  the  Spanish  attache." 

"And  now,  Dick,  we  want  you  to  find  him  and  get  him 
into  a  room  with  ourselves,  where  we  can  ask  him  some 
questions/'  declared  Judge  Claiborne. 

They  discussed  the  matter  in  detail.  It  was  agreed 
that  Dick  should  remain  at  the  Springs  for  a  few  days 
to  watch  Chauvenet;  then,  if  he  got  no  clue  to  Armi- 
tage's  whereabouts,  he  was  to  go  to  Montana,  to  see  if 
anything  could  be  learned  there. 

"We  must  find  him — there  must  be  no  mistake  about 
it/'  said  the  Ambassador  to  Judge  Claiborne,  when  they 
were  alone.  "They  are  almost  panic-stricken  in  Vienna. 
What  with  the  match  burning  close  to  the  powder  in 
Hungary  and  clever  heads  plotting  in  Vienna  this  Amer 
ican  end  of  the  game  has  dangerous  possibilities." 

"And  when  we  have  young  Armitage — "  the  Judge 
Began. 

"Then  we  shall  know  the  truth." 


252         THE   POET    OF   MISSING   MEN" 

"But  suppose — suppose,"  and  Judge  Claiborne 
glanced  at  the  door,  "suppose  Charles  Louis,  Emperor- 
king  of  Austria-Hungary,  should  die — to-night — to-mor- 
tow — " 

"We  will  assume  nothing  of  the  kind !"  ejaculated  the 
Ambassador  sharply.  "It  is  impossible."  Then  to  Cap 
tain  Claiborne:  "You  must  pardon  me  if  I  do  not  ex 
plain  further.  I  wish  to  find  Armitage;  it  is  of  the 
greatest  importance.  It  would  not  aid  you  if  I  told  you 
why  I  must  see  and  talk  with  him." 

And  as  though  to  escape  from  the  thing  of  which  his 
counsel  had  hinted,  Baron  von  Marhof  took  his  de 
parture  at  once. 

Shirley  met  her  brother  on  the  veranda.  His  arrival 
had  been  unheralded  and  she  was  frankly  astonished  to 
see  him. 

"Well,  Captain  Claiborne,  you  are  a  man  of  mystery. 
You  will  undoubtedly  be  court-martialed  for  deserting 
— and  after  a  long  leave,  too." 

"I  am  on  duty.  Don't  forget  that  you  are  the  daugh 
ter  of  a  diplomat." 

"Humph !  It  doesn't  follow,  necessarily,  that  I  should 
be  stupid !" 

"You  couldn't  be  that,  Shirley,  dear." 


CAPTAIN    CLAIBOENE    ON   DUTY      253 

"Thank  you,  Captain." 

They  discussed  family  matters  for  a  few  minutes; 
then  she  said,  with  elaborate  irrelevance : 

"Well,  we  must  hope  that  your  appearance  will  cause 
no  battles  to  be  fought  in  our  garden.  There  was  enough 
fighting  about  here  in  old  times." 

"Take  heart,  little  sister,  I  shall  protect  you.  Oh,  it's 
rather  decent  of  Armitage  to  have  kept  away  from  you, 
Shirley,  after  all  that  fuss  about  the  bogus  baron." 

"Which  he  wasn't—" 

"Well,  Sanderson  says  he  couldn't  have  been,  and  the 
rogues'  gallery  pictures  don't  resemble  our  friend  at  all." 

"Ugh ;  don't  speak  of  it !"  and  Shirley  shrugged  her 
shoulders.  She  suffered  her  eyes  to  climb  the  slopes  of 
the  far  hills.  Then  she  looked  steadily  at  her  brother 
and  laughed. 

"What  do  you  and  father  and  Baron  von  Marhof  want 
with  Mr.  John  Armitage?"  she  asked. 

"Guess  again !"  exclaimed  Dick  hurriedly.  "Has  that 
been  the  undercurrent  of  your  conversation  ?  As  I  may 
have  said  before  in  this  connection,  you  disappoint  me, 
Shirley.  You  seem  unable  to  forget  that  fellow." 

He  paused,  grew  very  serious,  and  bent  forward  in  his 
wicker  chair. 


254         THE    PORT    OF   MISSING-   MEN 

"Have  you  seen  John  Armitage  since  I  saw  him  ?•*• 

"Impertinent !  How  dare  you  ?" 

"But  Shirley,  the  question  is  fair !" 

"Is  it,  Richard?" 

"And  I  want  you  to  answer  me/' 

"That's  different." 

He  rose  and  took  several  steps  toward  her.  She  stood 
against  the  railing  with  her  hands  behind  her  back. 

"Shirley,  you  are  the  finest  girl  in  the  world,  but  you 
wouldn't  do  this — " 

"This  what,  Dick?" 

"You  know  what  I  mean.  I  ask  you  again — have  you 
or  have  you  not  seen  Armitage  since  you  came  to  the 
Springs  ?" 

He  spoke  impatiently,  his  eyes  upon  hers.  A  wave  of 
color  swept  her  face,  and  then  her  anger  passed  and  she 
was  her  usual  good-natured  self. 

"Baron  von  Marhof  is  a  charming  old  gentleman,  isn't 
he?" 

"He's  a  regular  old  brick,"  declared  Dick  solemnly. 

"It's  a  great  privilege  for  a  young  man  like  you  to 
know  him,  Dick,  and  to  have  private  talks  with  him  and 
the  governor — about  subjects  of  deep  importance.  The 
governor  is  a  good  deal  of  a  man  himself." 


CAPTAIN    CLAIBOKNE    OX   DUTY      255 

"I  am  proud  to  be  his  son/'  declared  Dick,  meeting 
Shirley's  eyes  unflinchingly. 

Shirley  was  silent  for  a  moment,  while  Dick  whistled 
a  few  bars  from  the  latest  waltz. 

"A  captain — a  mere  captain  of  the  line — is  not  often 
plucked  out  of  his  post  when  in  good  health  and  stand 
ing — after  a  long  leave  for  foreign  travel — and  sent 
away  to  visit  his  parents — and  help  entertain  a  distin 
guished  Ambassador." 

"Thanks  for  the  'mere  captain/  dearest.  You  needn't 
rub  it  in." 

"I  wouldn't.  But  you  are  fair  game — for  your  sister 
only!  And  you're  better  known  than  you  were  before 
that  little  supper  for  the  Spanish  attache.  It  rather  di 
rected  attention  to  you,  didn't  it,  Dick  ?" 

Dick  colored. 

"It  certainly  did." 

"And  if  you  should  meet  Monsieur  Chauvenet,  who 
caused  the  trouble — " 

"I  have  every  intention  of  meeting  him !" 

"Oh !" 

"Of  course,  I  shall  meet  him — some  time,  somewhere. 
He's  at  the  Springs,  isn't  he  ?" 


256         THE   POET   OF   MISSING   MEN 

"Am  I  a  hotel  register  that  I  should  know  ?  I  haven't 
seen  him  for  several  days." 

"What  I  should  like  to  see,"  said  Dick,  "is  a  meeting 
between  Armitage  and  Chauvenet.  That  would  really  be 
entertaining.  No  doubt  Chauvenet  could  whip  your  mys 
terious  suitor." 

He  looked  away,  with  an  air  of  unconcern,  at  the  deep 
ening  shadows  on  the  mountains. 

"Dear  Dick,  I  am  quite  sure  that  if  you  have  been 
chosen  out  of  all  the  United  States  army  to  find  Mr. 
John  Armitage,  you  will  succeed  without  any  help  from 
me." 

"That  doesn't  answer  my  question.  You  don't  know 
what  you  are  doing.  What  if  father  knew  that  you  were 
seeing  this  adventurer — " 

"Oh,  of  course,  if  you  should  tell  father !    I  haven't 

said  that  I  had  seen  Mr.  Armitage ;  and  you  haven't  ex- 

~.actly  told  me  that  you  have  a  warrant  for  his  arrest;  so 

.we  are  quits,  Captain.    You  had  better  look  in  at  the 

hotel  dance  to-night.  There  are  girls  there  and  to  spare." 

"When  I  find  Mr.  Armitage—" 

efYou.  seem  hopeful,  Captain.  He  may  be  on  the  high 
seas." 

"I  shall  find  him  there — or  here  \" 


CAPTAIN    CLAIBOENE    ON   DUTY      257 

"Good  luck  to  you,  Captain  V 

There  was  the  least  flash  of  antagonism  in  the  glance 
that  passed  between  them,  and  Captain  Claiborne 
clapped  his  hands  together  impatiently  and  went  into 
the  house. 


CHAPTEK    XX 

THE  FIRST  RIDE  TOGETHER 

My  mistress  bent  that  brow  of  hers; 
Those  deep  dark  eyes  where  pride  demurs 
When  pity  would  be  softening  through, 
Fixed  me  a  breathing-while  or  two 

With  life  or  death  in  the  balance:  right! 
The  blood  replenished  me  again; 
My  last  thought  was  at  least  not  vain: 
I  and  my  mistress,  side  by  side 
Shall  be  together,  breathe  and  ride, 
So,  one  day  more  am  I  deified. 

Who  knows  but  the  world  may  end  to-night? 

— R.  Browning. 

"We  shall  be  leaving  soon,"  said  Armitage,  half  to 
himself  and  partly  to  Oscar.  "It  is  not  safe  to  wait 
much  longer." 

He  tossed  a  copy  of  the  Neue  Freie  Presse  on  the  ta 
ble.  Oscar  had  been  down  to  the  Springs  to  explore, 
and  brought  back  news,  gained  from  the  stablemen  at 
the  hotel,  that  Chauvenet  had  left  the  hotel,  presumably 
for  Washington.  It  was  now  Wednesday  in  the  third 
week  in  April. 

258 


259 

"Oscar,  you  were  a  clever  boy  and  knew  more  than 
you  were  told.  You  have  asked  me  no  questions.  There f 
may  be  an  ugly  row  before  I  get  out  of  these  hills.   I 
should  not  think  hard  of  you  if  you  preferred  to 
leave." 

'rl  enlisted  for  the  campaign — yes  ? — I  shall  wait  un 
til  I  am  discharged."  And  the  little  man  buttoned  his 
coat. 

"Thank  you,  Oscar.  In  a  few  days  more  we  shall 
probably  be  through  with  this  business.  There's  an 
other  man  coming  to  get  into  the  game — he  reached 
"Washington  yesterday,  and  we  shall  doubtless  hear  of 
him  shortly.  Very  likely  they  are  both  in  the  hills  to 
night.  And,  Oscar,  listen  carefully  to  what  I  say." 

The  soldier  drew  nearer  to  Armitage,  who  sat  swing 
ing  his  legs  on  the  table  in  the  bungalow. 

"If  I  should  die  unshriven  during  the  next  week, 
here's  a  key  that  opens  a  safety-vault  box  at  the  Bronx 
Loan  and  Trust  Company,  in  New  York.  In  case  I 
am  disabled,  go  at  once  with  the  key  to  Baron  von  Mar- 
hof,  Ambassador  of  Austria-Hungary,  and  tell  him — 
tell  him—" 

He  had  paused  for  a  moment  as  though  pondering 
his  words  with  care ;  then  he  laughed  and  went  on. 


260        THE   PORT   OF   MISSING   MEN 

" — tell  him,  Oscar,  that  there's  a  message  in  that 
safety  box  from  a  gentleman  who  might  have  been 
King." 

Oscar  stared  at  Armitage  blankly. 

"That  is  the  truth,  Sergeant.  The  message  once  in 
the  good  Baron's  hands  will  undoubtedly  give  him  a 
severe  shock.  You  will  do  well  to  go  to  bed.  I  shall 
take  a  walk  before  I  turn  in." 

"You  should  not  go  out  alone — " 

"Don't  trouble  about  me ;  I  shan't  go  far.  I  think  we 
are  safe  until  two  gentlemen  have  met  in  Washington, 
discussed  their  affairs,  and  come  down  into  the  moun 
tains  again.  The  large  brute  we  caught  the  other  night 
is  undoubtedly  on  watch  near  by;  but  he  is  harmless, 
Only  a  few  days  more  and  we  shall  perform  a  real  serv 
ice  in  the  world,  Sergeant, — I  feel  it  in  my  bones." 

He  took  his  hat  from  a  bench  by  the  door  and  went 
out  upon  the  veranda.  The  moon  had  already  slipped 
down  behind  the  mountains,  but  the  stars  trooped 
brightly  across  the  heavens.  He  drank  deep  breaths  of 
the  cool  air  of  the  mountain  night,  and  felt  the  dark 
wooing  him  with  its  calm  and  peace.  He  returned  for 
his  cloak  and  walked  into  the  wood.  He  followed  the 
road  to  the  gate,  and  then  turned  toward  the  Port  of 


THE   FIRST   RIDE    TOGETHER          261 

Missing  Men.  He  had  formed  quite  definite  plans  of 
what  he  should  do  in  certain  emergencies.,  and  he  felt  a 
new  strength  in  his  confidence  that  he  should  succeed 
in  the  business  that  had  brought  him  into  the  hills. 

At  the  abandoned  bridge  he  threw  himself  down  and 
gazed  off  through  a  narrow  cut  that  afforded  a  glimpse 
of  the  Springs,  where  the  electric  lights  gleamed  as  one 
lamp.  Shirley  Claiborne  was  there  in  the  valley  and 
he  smiled  with  the  thought  of  her;  for  soon — perhaps 
in  a  few  hours — he  would  be  free  to  go  to  her,  his  work 
done;  and  no  mystery  or  tiangerous  task  would  hence 
forth  lie  between  them. 

He  saw  march  before  him  across  the  night  great 
hosts  of  armed  men,  singing  hymns  of  war;  and  again 
he  looked  upon  cities  besieged;  still  again  upon  armies 
in  long  alignment  waiting  for  the  word  that  would  bring 
the  final  shock  of  battle.  The  faint  roar  of  water 
far  below  added  an  under-note  of  reality  to  his  dream ; 
and  still  he  saw,  as  upon  a  tapestry  held  in  his  hand, 
the  struggles  of  kingdoms,  the  rise  and  fall  of  empires. 
Upon  the  wide  seas  smoke  floated  from  the  guns  of 
giant  ships  that  strove  mightily  in  battle.  He  was 
thrilled  by  drum-beats  and  the  cry  of  trumpets.  Then 
his  mood  changed  and  the  mountains  and  calm  stars 


262         THE   PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

spoke  an  heroic  language  that  was  of  newer  and  nobler 
things ;  and  he  shook  his  head  impatiently  and  gathered 
his  cloak  about  him  and  rose. 

,  "God  said,  'I  am  tired  of  kings/  "  he  muttered.  <rBut 
I  shall  keep  my  pledge ;  I  shall  do  Austria  a  service/' 
he  said ;  and  then  laughed  a  little  to  himself.  "To  think 
that  it  may  be  for  me  to  say !"  And  with  this  he  walked 
quite  to  the  brink  of  the  chasm  and  laid  his  hand  upon 
the  iron  cable  from  which  swung  the  bridge. 

"I  shall  soon  be  free/'  he  said  with  a  deep  sigh;  and 
looked  across  the  starlighted  hills. 

Then  the  cable  under  his  hand  vibrated  slightly;  at 
first  he  thought  it  the  night  wind  stealing  through  the 
vale  and  swaying  the  bridge  above  the  sheer  depth.  But 
still  he  felt  the  tingle  of  the  iron  rope  in  his  clasp,  and 
his  hold  tightened  and  he  bent  forward  to  listen.  The 
whole  bridge  now  audibly  shook  with  the  pulsation  of  a 
step — a  soft,  furtive  step,  as  of  one  cautiously  groping 
a  way  over  the  unsubstantial  flooring.  Then  through 
the  starlight  he  distinguished  a  woman's  figure,  and 
drew  back.  A  loose  plank  in  the  bridge  floor  rattled, 
and  as  she  passed  it  freed  itself  and  he  heard  it  strike 
the  rocks  faintly  far  below;  but  the  figure  stole  swiftly 
-on,  and  he  bent  forward  with  a  cry  of  warning  on  his 


THE    FIRST   RIDE    TOGETHER         263 

lips,  and  snatched  away  the  light  barricade  that  had 
been  nailed  across  the  opening. 

When  he  looked  up,  his  words  of  rebuke,  that  had 
waited  only  for  the  woman's  security,  died  on  his  lips. 

"Shirley!"  he  cried;  and  put  forth  both  hands  and 
lifted  her  to  firm  ground. 

A  little  sigh  of  relief  broke  from  her.  The  bridge 
still  swayed  from  her  weight;  and  the  cables  hummed 
like  the  wires  of  a  harp;  near  at  hand  the  waterfall 
tumbled  down  through  the  mystical  starlight. 

"I  did  not  know  that  dreams  really  came  true/'  he 
said,  with  an  awe  in  his  voice  that  the  passing  fear  had 
left  behind. 

She  began  abruptly,  not  heeding  his  words. 

"You  must  go  away — at  once — I  came  to  tell  you 
that  you  can  not  stay  here." 

"But  it  is  unfair  to  accept  any  warning  from  you! 
You  are  too  generous,  too  kind," — he  began. 

"It  is  not  generosity  or  kindness,  but  this  danger  that 
follows  you — it  is  an  evil  thing  and  it  must  not  find  you 
here.  It  is  impossible  that  such  a  thing  can  be  in  Amer 
ica.  But  you  must  go — you  must  seek  the  law's  aid — " 

"How  do  you  know  I  dare — " 

"I  don't  know — that  you  dare !" 


264         THE   PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

"I  know  that  you  have  a  great  heart  and  that  I  love 
you,"  he  said. 

She  turned  quickly  toward  the  "bridge  as  though  to 
retrace  her  steps. 

"I  can't  be  paid  for  a  slight,  a  very  slight  service  by 
jfair  words,  Mr.  Armitage.  If  you  knew  why  I  came — " 

"If  I  dared  think  or  believe  or  hope — " 

"You  will  dare  nothing  of  the  kind,  Mr.  Armitage !" 
she  replied ;  "but  I  will  tell  you,  that  I  came  out  of  or 
dinary  Christian  humanity.  The  idea  of  friends,  of 
even  slight  acquaintances,  being  assassinated  in  these 
Virginia  hills  does  not  please  me." 

"How  do  you  classify  me,  please — with  friends  or 
acquaintances  ?" 

He  laughed;  then  the  gravity  of  what  she  was  doing 
changed  his  tone. 

"I  am  John  Armitage.  That  is  all  you  know,  and  yet 
you  hazard  your  life  to  warn  me  that  I  am  in  danger  ?" 

"If  you  called  yourself  John  Smith  I  should  do  ex 
actly  the  same  thing.  It  makes  not  the  slightest  differ 
ence  to  me  who  or  what  you  are." 

"You  are  explicit!"  he  laughed.  "I  don't  hesitate 
to  tell  you  that  I  value  your  life  much  higher  than  you 
do." 


THE    FIEST    BIDE    TOGETHER          265 

"That  is  quite  unnecessary.  It  may  amuse  you  to 
know  that,  as  I  am  a  person  of  little  curiosity,  I  am 
not  the  least  concerned  in  the  solution  of — of — what 
might  be  called  the  Armitage  riddle." 

"Oh;  I'm  a  riddle,  am  I?" 

"Not  to  me,  I  assure  you!  You  are  only  the  object 
of  some  one's  enmity,  and  there's  something  about  mur 
der  that  is — that  isn't  exactly  nice !  It's  positively  un- 
esthetic." 

She  had  begun  seriously,  but  laughed  at  the  ab 
surdity  of  her  last  words. 

"You  are  amazingly  impersonal.  You  would  save  a 
man's  life  without  caring  in  the  least  what  manner  of 
man  he  may  be." 

"You  put  it  rather  flatly,  but  that's  about  the  truth 
of  the  matter.  Do  you  know,  I  am  almost  afraid — " 

"Not  of  me,  I  hope—" 

"Certainly  not.  But  it  has  occurred  to  me  that  you 
may  have  the  conceit  of  your  own  mystery,  that  you  may 
take  rather  too  much  pleasure  in  mystifying  people  as 
to  your  identity." 

"That  is  unkind, — that  is  unkind,"  and  he  spoke 
without  resentment,  but  softly,  with  a  falling  cadence. 


266         THE    PORT   OF   MISSING   MEN 

He  suddenly  threw  down  the  hat  he  had  held  in  his 
hand,  and  extended  his  arms  toward  her. 

"You  are  not  unkind  or  unjust.  You  have  a  right 
to  know  who  I  am  and  what  I  am  doing  here.  It  seems 
an  impertinence  to  thrust  my  affairs  upon  you;  but  if 
you  will  listen  I  should  like  to  tell  you — it  will  take 
but  a  moment — why  and  what — " 

"Please  do  not !  As  I  told  you,  I  have  no  curiosity  in 
the  matter.  I  can't  allow  you  to  tell  me ;  I  really  don't 
want  to  know !" 

"I  am  willing  that  every  one  should  know — to-mor 
row — or  the  day  after — not  later." 

She  lifted  her  head,  as  though  with  the  earnestness 
of  some  new  thought. 

"The  day  after  may  be  too  late.  Whatever  it  is  that 
you  have  done — " 

"I  have  done  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of, — I  swear  I 
have  not !" 

"Whatever  it  is, — and  I  don't  care  what  it  is," — she 
said  deliberately,  " — it  is  something  quite  serious,  Mr. 
Armitage.  My  brother — " 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  spoke  rapidly. 

"My  brother  has  been  detailed  to  help  in  the  search 
for  you.  He  is  at  Storm  Springs  now." 


THE    FIKST   EIDE    TOGETHER         267 

"But  Tie  doesn't  understand — " 

"My  brother  is  a  soldier  and  it  is  not  necessary  for 
him  to  understand." 

"And  you  have  done  this — you  have  come  to  warm 
me—" 

"It  does  look  pretty  bad/'  she  said,  changing  her  tone 
and  laughing  a  little.  "But  my  brother  and  I — we  al 
ways  had  very  different  ideas  about  you,  Mr.  Armitage. 
We  hold  briefs  for  different  sides  of  the  case/' 

"Oh,  I'm  a  case,  am  I  ?"  and  he  caught  gladly  at  the 
suggestion  of  lightness  in  her  tone.  "But  I'd  really 
like  to  know  what  he  has  to  do  with  my  affairs." 

"Then  you  will  have  to  ask  him." 

"To  be  sure.  But  the  government  can  hardly  have 
assigned  Captain  Claiborne  to  special  duty  at  Monsieur 
Chauvenet's  request.  I  swear  to  you  that  I'm  as  much 
in  the  dark  as  you  are." 

"I'm  quite  sure  an  officer  of  the  line  would  not  be 
taken  from  his  duties  and  sent  into  the  country  on  any 
frivolous  errand.  But  perhaps  an  Ambassador  from  a 
great  power  made  the  request, — perhaps,  for  example, 
it  was  Baron  von  Marhof." 

"Good  Lord!" 

Armitage  laughed  aloud. 


268         THE   POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

"I  beg  your  pardon !  I  really  beg  your  pardon !  But 
is  the  Ambassador  looking  for  me  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  Mr.  Armitage.  You  forget  that  I'm 
only  a  traitor  and  not  a  spy." 

"You  are  the  noblest  woman  in  the  world,"  he  said 
boldly,  and  his  heart  leaped  in  him  and  he  spoke  on  with 
a  fierce  haste.  "You  have  made  sacrifices  for  me  that 
no  woman  ever  made  before  for  a  man — for  a  man  she 
did  not  know!  And  my  life — whatever  it  is  worth, 
every  hour  and  second  of  it,  I  lay  down  before  you, 
and  it  is  yours  to  keep  or  throw  away.  I  followed  you 
half-way  round  the  world  and  I  shall  follow  you  again 
and  as  long  as  I  live.  And  to-morrow — or  the  day  after 
— I  shall  justify  these  great  kindnesses — this  generous 
confidence ;  but  to-night  I  have  a  work  to  do !" 

As  they  stood  on  the  verge  of  the  defile,  by  the  bridge 
that  swung  out  from  the  cliff  like  a  fairy  structure,  they 
heard  far  and  faint  the  whistle  and  low  rumble  of  the 
night  train  south-bound  from  Washington ;  and  to  both 
of  them  the  sound  urged  the  very  real  and  practical 
world  from  which  for  a  little  time  they  had  stolen  away. 

"I  must  go  back,"  said  Shirley,  and  turned  to  the 
bridge  and  put  her  hand  on  its  slight  iron  frame;  but 
he  seized  her  wrists  and  held  them  tight. 


269 

<r5Tou  have  risked  much  for  me,  but  you  shall  not  risk 
your  life  again  in  my  cause.  You  can  not  venture 
across  that  bridge  again." 

She  yielded  without  further  parley  and  he  dropped 
her  wrists  at  once. 

"Please  say  no  more.  You  must  not  make  me 
sorry  I  came.  I  must  go, — I  should  have  gone  back 
instantly." 

"But  not  across  that  spider's  web.  You  must  go  by 
the  long  road.  I  will  give  you  a  horse  and  ride  with  you 
into  the  valley." 

"It  is  much  nearer  by  the  bridge, — and  I  have  my 
horse  over  there." 

"We  shall  get  the  horse  without  trouble,"  he  said, 
and  she  walked  beside  him  through  the  starlighted 
wood.  As  they  crossed  the  open  tract  she  said : 

"This  is  the  Port  of  Missing  Men." 

"Yes,  here  the  lost  legion  made  its  last  stand.  There 
lie  the  graves  of  some  of  them.  It's  a  pretty  story;  I 
hope  some  day  to  know  more  of  it  from  some  such  au 
thority  as  yourself." 

"I  used  to  ride  here  on  my  pony  when  I  was  a  little 
girl,  and  dream  about  the  gray  soldiers  who  would  not 
surrender.  It  was  as  beautiful  as  an  old  ballad.  I'll 


270         THE    PORT    OF    MISSING    MEN 

wait  here.  Fetch  the  horse/'  she  said,  "and  hurry, 
please." 

"If  there  are  explanations  to  make/'  he  began,  look 
ing  at  her  gravely. 

"I  am  not  a  person  who  makes  explanations,  Mr. 
Armitage.  You  may  meet  me  at  the  gate." 

As  he  ran  toward  the  house  he  met  Oscar,  who  had  be 
come  alarmed  at  his  absence  and  was  setting  forth  in 
search  of  him. 

"Come;  saddle  both  the  horses,  Oscar,"  Armitage 
commanded. 

They  went  together  to  the  barn  and  quickly  brought 
out  the  horses. 

"You  are  not  to  come  with  me,  Oscar." 

"A  captain  does  not  go  alone;  it  should  be  the  ser 
geant  who  is  sent — yes?" 

"It  is  not  an  affair  of  war,  Oscar,  but  quite  another 
matter.  There  is  a  saddled  horse  hitched  to  the  other 
side  of  our  abandoned  bridge.  Get  it  and  ride  it  to 
Judge  Claiborne's  stables ;  and  ask  and  answer  no  ques 
tions." 

A  moment  later  he  was  riding  toward  the  gate,  the 
led-horse  following. 

He  flung  himself  down,  adjusting  the  stirrups  and 


THE   FIRST   EIDE   TOGETHER         271 

gave  her  a  hand  into  the  saddle.  They  turned  silently 
into  the  mountain  road. 

"The  bridge  would  have  been  simpler  and  quicker," 
said  Shirley ;  "as  it  is,  I  shall  be  late  to  the  ball." 

"I  am  contrite  enough ;  but  you  don't  make  explana 
tions." 

"No;  I  don't  explain;  and  you  are  to  come  back  as 
soon  as  we  strike  the  valley.  I  always  send  gentlemen 
back  at  that  point/'  she  laughed,  and  went  ahead  of  him 
into  the  narrow  road.  She  guided  the  strange  horse 
with  the  ease  of  long  practice,  skilfully  testing  his 
paces,  and  when  they  came  to  a  stretch  of  smooth  road 
sent  him  flying  at  a  gallop  over  the  trail.  He  had  given 
her  his  own  horse,  a  hunter  of  famous  strain,  and  she 
at  once  defined  and  maintained  a  distance  between  them 
that  made  talk  impossible. 

Her  short  covert  riding-coat,  buttoned  close,  marked 
clearly  in  the  starlight  her  erect  figure;  light  wisps  of 
loosened  hair  broke  free  under  her  soft  felt  hat,  and 
when  she  turned  her  head  the  wind  caught  the  brim  and 
pressed  it  back  from  her  face,  giving  a  new  charm  to  her 
profile. 

He  called  after  her  once  or  twice  at  the  start,  but 
she  did  not  pause  or  reply ;  and  he  could  not  know  what 


272         THE   POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

mood  possessed  her ;  or  that  once  in  flight,  in  the  secur 
ity  the  horse  gave  her,  she  was  for  the  first  time  afraid 
of  him.  He  had  declared  his  love  for  her,  and  had  of 
fered  to  break  down  the  veil  of  mystery  that  made  him 
a  strange  and  perplexing  figure.  His  affairs,  whatever 
their  nature,  were  now  at  a  crisis,  he  had  said;  quite 
possibly  she  should  never  see  him  again  after  this  ride. 
As  she  waited  at  the  gate  she  had  known  a  moment  of 
contrition  and  doubt  as  to  what  she  had  done.  It  was  not 
fair  to  her  brother  thus  fb  give  away  his  secret  to  the 
enemy;  but  as  the  horse  flew  down  the  rough  road  her 
blood  leaped  with  the  sense  of  adventure,  and  her  pulse 
sang  with  the  joy  of  flight.  Her  thoughts  were  free,  wild 
things ;  and  she  exulted  in  the  great  starry  vault  and  the 
cool  heights  over  which  she  rode.  Who  was  John  Armi- 
tage  ?  She  did  not  know  or  care,  now  that  she  had  per 
formed  for  him  her  last  service.  Quite  likely  he  would 
fade  away  on  the  morrow  like  a  mountain  shadow  before 
the  sun ;  and  the  song  in  her  heart  to-night  was  not  love 
or  anything  akin  to  it,  but  only  the  joy  of  living. 

Where  the  road  grew  difficult  as  it  dipped  sharply 
down  into  the  valley  she  suffered  him  perforce  to  ride 
beside  her. 

"You  ride  wonderfully/'  he  said. 


THE    PIEST    RIDE    TOGETHER          273 

"The  horse  is  a  joy.  He's  a  Pendragon — I  know 
them  in  the  dark.  He  must  have  come  from  this  valley 
somewhere.  We  own  some  of  his  cousins,  I'm  sure." 

"You  are  quite  right.  He's  a  Virginia  horse.  You 
are  incomparable — no  other  woman  alive  could  have 
kept  that  pace.  It's  a  brave  woman  who  isn't  a  slave 
to  her  hair-pins — I  don't  believe  you  spilled  one." 

She  drew  rein  at  the  cross-roads. 

"We  part  here.    How  shall  I  return  Bucephalus?" 

"Let  me  go  to  your  own  gate,  please !" 

"Not  at  all !"  she  said  with  decision. 

"Then  Oscar  will  pick  him  up.  If  you  don't  see  him, 
turn  the  horse  loose.  But  my  thanks — for  oh,  so  many 
;hings !"  he  pleaded. 

"To-morrow — or  the  day  after — or  never !" 

She  laughed  and  put  out  her  hand ;  and  when  he  tried 
to  detain  her  she  spoke  to  the  horse  and  flashed  away 
toward  home.  He  listened,  marking  her  flight  until  the 
shadows  of  the  valley  stole  sound  and  sight  from  him; 
then  he  turned  back  into  the  hills. 

Near  her  father's  estate  Shirley  came  upon  a  man  who 
saluted  in  the  manner  of  a  soldier. 

It  was  Oscar,  who  had  crossed  the  bridge  and  ridden 
down  by  the  nearer  road. 


274         THE    PORT    OF    MISSING    MEN 

"It  is  my  captain's  horse — yes  ?"  he  said,  as  the  slim, 
graceful  animal  whinnied  and  pawed  the  ground.  "I 
found  a  horse  at  the  broken  bridge  and  took  it  to  your 
stable — yes  ?" 

A  moment  later  Shirley  walked  rapidly  through  the 
'garden  to  the  veranda  of  her  father's  house,  where  her 
brother  Dick  paced  back  and  forth  impatiently. 

"Where  have  you  been,  Shirley  ?" 

"Walking." 

"But  you  went  for  a  ride — the  stable-men  told  me." 

"I  believe  that  is  true,  Captain." 

"And  your  horse  was  brought  home  half  an  hour 
ago  by  a  strange  fellow  who  saluted  like  a  soldier  when 
I  spoke  to  him,  but  refused  to  understand  my  Eng 
lish." 

"Well,  they  do  say  English  isn't  very  well  taught  at 
West  Point,  Captain,"  she  replied,  pulling  off  her 
gloves.  "You  oughtn't  to  blame  the  polite  stranger  for 
his  courtesy." 

"I  believe  you  have  been  up  to  some  mischief,  Shir 
ley.  If  you  are  seeing  that  man  Armitage — " 

"Captain !" 

"Bah !  What  are  you  going  to  do  now  ?" 

"I'm  going  to  the  ball  with  you  as  soon  as  I  can 


275 

change  my  gown.    I  suppose  father  and  mother  have 

gone." 

"They  have — for  which  you  should  be  grateful  I" 
Captain  Claiborne  lighted  a  cigar  and  waited. 


CHAPTEE  XXI 

THE   COMEDY   OF   A   SHEEPFOLD 

A  glance,  a  word — and  joy  or  pain 
Befalls;  what  was  no  more  shall  be. 

How  slight  the  links  are  in  the  chain. 
That  binds  us  to  our  destiny! 

— T.  B.  Aldrich. 

Oscar's  eye,  roaming  the  landscape  as  he  left  Shirley 
Claiborne  and  started  for  the  bungalow,  swept  the  up 
land  Claiborne  acres  and  rested  upon  a  moving  shadow. 
He  drew  rein  under  a  clump  of  wild  cherry-trees  at  the 
roadside  and  waited.  Several  hundred  yards  away  lay 
the  Claiborne  sheepfold,  with  a  broad  pasture  rising  be 
yond.  A  shadow  is  not  a  thing  to  be  ignored  by  a  man 
trained  in  the  niceties  of  scouting.  Oscar,  satisfying 
himself  that  substance  lay  behind  the  shadow,  dismount 
ed  and  tied  his  horse.  Then  he  bent  low  over  the  stone 
wall  and  watched. 

"It  is  the  big  fellow — yes?  He  is  a  stealer  of  sheep, 
as  I  might  have  known." 

276 


THE  COMEDY  OF  A  SHEEPFOLD   277 

Zmai  was  only  a  dim  figure  against  the  dark  meadow, 
•which  he  was  slowly  crossing  from  the  side  farthest 
from  the  Claiborne  house.  He  stopped  several  times  as 
though  uncertain  of  his  whereabouts,  and  then  clambered 
over  a  stone  wall  that  formed  one  side  of  the  sheepfold, 
passed  it  and  strode  on  toward  Oscar  and  the  road. 

"It  is  mischief  that  brings  him  from  the  hills — 
yes?"  Oscar  reflected,  glancing  up  and  down  the  high 
way.  Faintly — very  softly  through  the  night  he  heard 
the  orchestra  at  the  hotel,  playing  for  the  dance.  The 
little  soldier  unbuttoned  his  coat,  drew  the  revolver  from 
his  belt,  and  thrust  it  into  his  coat  pocket.  Zmai  was 
drawing  nearer,  advancing  rapidly,  now  that  he  had 
gained  his  bearings.  At  the  wall  Oscar  rose  suddenly 
and  greeted  him  in  mockingly-courteous  tones: 

"Good  evening,  my  friend;  it's  a  fine  evening  for  a 

walk." 

* 

Zmai  drew  back  and  growled. 

"Let  me  pass,"  he  said  in  his  difficult  German. 

"It  is  a  long  wall;  there  should  be  no  difficulty  in 
passing.  This  country  is  much  freer  than  Servia — 
yes?"  and  Oscar's  tone  was  pleasantly  conversa 
tional. 

Z»ai  put  his  hand  on  the  wall  and  prepared  to  vault. 


278         THE    POET,   OF.   MISSING   MEN 

"A  moment  only,  comrade.  You  seem  to  be  iu  a 
hurry;  it  must  be  a  business  that  brings  you  from  the 
mountains — yes  ?" 

"I  have  no  time  for  you,"  snarled  the  Servian.  "Be 
gone !"  and  he  shook  himself  impatiently  and  again  put 
his  hand  on  the  wall. 

"One  should  not  be  in  too  much  haste,  comrade ;" 
and  Oscar  thrust  Zmai  back  with  his  finger-tips. 

The  man  yielded  and  ran  a  few  steps  out  of  the  clump 
of  trees  and  sought  to  escape  there.  It  was  clear  to 
Oscar  that  Zmai  was  not  anxious  to  penetrate  closer  to 
the  Claiborne  house,  whose  garden  extended  quite  near. 
He  met  Zmai  promptly  and  again  thrust  him  back. 

"It  is  a  message — yes  ?"  asked  Oscar. 

"It  is  my  affair,"  blurted  the  big  fellow.  "I  mean 
no  harm  to  you." 

"It  was  you  that  tried  the  knife  on  my  body.  It  is 
much  quieter  than  shooting.  You  have  the  knife — 
yes?" 

The  little  soldier  whipped  out  his  revolver. 

"In  which  pocket  is  the  business  carried?  A  letter 
undoubtedly.  They  do  not  trust  swine  to  carry  words — 
Ah!" 

Oscar  dropped  below  the  wall  as  Zmai  struck  at  him ; 


THE  COMEDY  OF  A  SHEEPFOLD   272 

when  he  looked  up  a  moment  later  the  Servian  was 
running  back  over  the  meadow  toward  the  sheepfold. 
Oscar,  angry  at  the  ease  with  which  the  Servian  had 
evaded  him,  leaped  the  wall  and  set  off  after  the  big 
fellow.  He  was  quite  sure  that  the  man  bore  a  written 
message,  and  equally  sure  that  it  must  be  of  importance 
to  his  employer.  He  clutched  his  revolver  tight,  brought 
up  his  elbows  for  greater  ease  in  running,  and  sped 
after  Zmai,  now  a  blur  on  the  staiiighted  sheep  pas 
ture. 

The  slope  was  gradual  and  a  pretty  feature  of  the 
landscape  by  day;  but  it  afforded  a  toilsome  path  for 
runners.  Zmai  already  realized  that  he  had  blundered 
in  not  forcing  the  wall ;  he  was  running  uphill,  with  a 
group  of  sheds,  another  wall,  and  a  still  steeper  and 
rougher  field  beyond.  His  bulk  told  against  him;  and 
behind  him  he  heard  the  quick  thump  of  Oscar's  feet  on 
the  turf.  The  starlight  grew  dimmer  through  tracts 
of  white  scud;  the  surface  of  the  pasture  was  rougher 
to  the  feet  than  it  appeared  to  the  eye.  A  hound  in  the 
Claiborne  stable-yard  bayed  suddenly  and  the  sound 
echoed  from  the  surrounding  houses  and  drifted  off 
toward  the  sheepfold.  Then  a  noble  music  rose  from 
the  kennels. 


280         THE   POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

Captain  Claiborne,  waiting  for  his  sister  on  the 
veranda,  looked  toward  the  stables,  listening. 

Zmai  approached  the  sheep-sheds  rapidly,  with  still 
a  hundred  yards  to  traverse  beyond  them  before  he 
should  reach  the  pasture  wall.  His  rage  at  thus  being 
>  driven  by  a  small  man  for  whom  he  had  great  contempt 
did  not  help  his  wind  or  stimulate  the  flight  of  his 
heavy  legs,  and  he  saw  now  that  he  would  lessen  the  nar 
rowing  margin  between  himself  and  his  pursuer  if  he 
swerved  to  the  right  to  clear  the  sheds.  He  suddenly 
slackened  his  pace,  and  with  a  vicious  tug  settled  his 
wool  hat  more  firmly  upon  his  small  skull.  He  went 
now  at  a  dog  trot  and  Oscar  was  closing  upon  him 
rapidly ;  then,  quite  near  the  sheds,  Zmai  wheeled  about 
and  charged  his  pursuer  headlong.  At  the  moment  he 
turned,  Oscar's  revolver  bit  keenly  into  the  night.  Cap 
tain  Claiborne,  looking  toward  the  slope,  saw  the  flash 
before  the  hounds  at  the  stables  answered  the  report. 

At  the  shot  Zmai  cried  aloud  in  his  curiously  small 
•  voice  and  clapped  his  hands  to  his  head. 

"Stop ;  I  want  the  letter !"  shouted  Oscar  in  German. 
The  man  turned  slowly,  as  though  dazed,  and,  with  a 
hand  still  clutching  his  head,  half-stumbled  and  half- 
ran  toward  the  sheds,  with  Oscar  at  his  heels. 


THE  COMEDY  OF  A  SHEEPFOLD  281 

Claiborne  called  to  *-he  negro  stable-men  to  quiet  the 
dogs,  snatched  a  lantern,  and  ran  away  through  the 
pergola  to  the  end  of  the  garden  and  thence  into  the 
pasture  beyond.  Meanwhile  Oscar,  thinking  Zmai  badly 
hurt,  did  not  fire  again,  but  flung  himself  upon  the 
fellow's  broad  shoulders  and  down  they  crashed  against 
the  door  of  the  nearest  pen.  Zmai  swerved  and  shook 
himself  free  while  he  fiercely  cursed  his  foe.  Oscar's 
hands  slipped  on  the  fellow's  hot  blood  that  ran  from  a 
long  crease  in  the  side  of  his  head. 

As  they  fell  the  pen  door  snapped  free,  and  out  into 
the  starry  pasture  thronged  the  frightened  sheep. 

"The  letter — give  me  the  letter !"  commanded  Oscar, 
his  face  close  to  the  Servian's.  He  did  not  know  how 
badly  the  man  was  injured,  but  he  was  anxious  to  com 
plete  his  business  and  be  off.  Still  the  sheep  came  hud 
dling  through  the  broken  door,  across  the  prostrate  men, 
and  scampered  away  into  the  open.  Captain  Claiborne, 
running  toward  the  fold  with  his  lantern  and  not  look 
ing  for  obstacles,  stumbled  over  their  bewildered  ad 
vance  guard  and  plunged  headlong  into  the  gray  fleeces. 
Meanwhile  into  the  pockets  of  his  prostrate  foe  went 
Oscar's  hands  with  no  result.  Then  he  remembered 
the  man's  gesture  in  pulling  the  hat  close  upon  his  ears, 


282         THE    PORT    OF    MISSING    MEN 

and  off  came  the  hat  and  with  it  a  blood-stained  envel 
ope.  The  last  sheep  in  the  pen  trooped  out  and  galloped 
toward  its  comrades. 

Oscar,  making  off  with  the  letter,  plunged  into  the 
rear  guard  of  the  sheep,  fell,  stumbled  to  his  feet,  and 
confronted  Captain  Claiborne  as  that  gentleman,  in 
soiled  evening  dress,  fumbled  for  his  lantern  and  swore 
in  language  unbecoming  an  officer  and  a  gentleman. 

"Damn  the  sheep !"  roared  Claiborne. 

"It  is  sheep — yes?"  and  Oscar  started  to  bolt. 

"Halt !" 

The  authority  of  the  tone  rang  familiarly  in  Oscar's 
ears.  He  had,  after  considerable  tribulation,  learned  to 
stop  short  when  an  officer  spoke  to  him,  and  the  gentle 
man  of  the  sheepfold  stood  straight  in  the  starlight 
and  spoke  like  an  officer. 

"What  in  the  devil  are  you  doing  here,  and  who  fired 
that  shot?" 

Oscar  saluted  and  summoned  his  best  English. 

"It  was  an  accident,  sir." 

"Why  are  you  running  and  why  did  you  fire?  Un 
derstand  you  are  a  trespasser  here,  and  I  am  going  to 
turn  you  over  to  the  constable." 

"There  was  a  sheep-stealer — yes  ?  He  is  yonder  by  the 


THE  COMEDY  OP  A  SHEEPFOLD   283 

pens — and  we  had  some  little  fighting;  but  he  is  not 
dead — no  ?" 

At  that  moment  Claiborne's  eyes  caught  sight  of  a 
burly  figure  rising  and  threshing  about  by  the  broken 
pen  door. 

"That  is  the  sheep-stealer,"  said  Oscar.  "We  shall 
catch  him — yes  ?" 

Zmai  peered  toward  them  uncertainly  for  a  moment ; 
then  turned  abruptly  and  ran  toward  the  road.  Oscar 
started  to  cut  off  his  retreat,  but  Claiborne  caught  the 
sergeant  by  the  shoulder  and  flung  him  back. 

"One  of  you  at  a  time !  They  can  turn  the  hounds  on 
the  other  rascal.  What's  that  you  have  there  ?  Give  it  to 
me — quick !" 

"It's  a  piece  of  wool — " 

But  Claiborne  snatched  the  paper  from  Oscar's  hand, 
and  commanded  the  man  to  march  ahead  of  him  to  the 
house.  So  over  the  meadow  and  through  the  pergola 
they  went,  across  the  veranda  and  into  the  library. 
The  power  of  army  discipline  was  upon  Oscar;  if  Clai 
borne  had  not  been  an  officer  he  would  have  run  for  it  in 
the  garden.  As  it  was,  he  was  taxing  his  wits  to  find 
some  way  out  of  his  predicament.  He  had  not  the 
slightest  idea  as  to  what  the  paper  might  be.  He  had 


284         THE   POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

risked  his  life  to  secure  it,  and  now  the  crumpled, 
blood-stained  paper  had  been  taken  away  from  him  by 
a  person  whom  it  could  not  interest  in  any  way  what 
ever. 

He  blinked  under  Claiborne's  sharp  scrutiny  as  they 
faced  each  other  in  the  library. 

"You  are  the  man  who  brought  a  horse  back  to  our 
stable  an  hour  ago." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"You  have  been  a  soldier." 

"In  the  cavalry,  sir.   I  have  my  discharge  at  home." 

"Where  do  you  live  ?" 

"I  work  as  teamster  in  the  coal  mines — yes? — they 
are  by  Lamar,  sir." 

Claiborne  studied  Oscar's  erect  figure  carefully. 

"Let  me  see  your  hands,"  he  commanded ;  and  Oscar 
extended  his  palms. 

"You  are  lying;  you  do  not  work  in  the  coal  mines. 
Your  clothes  are  not  those  of  a  miner ;  and  a  discharged 
soldier  doesn't  go  to  digging  coal.  Stand  where  you  are, 
and  it  will  be  the  worse  for  you  if  you  try  to  bolt." 

Claiborne  turned  to  the  table  with  the  envelope.  It 
was  not  sealed,  and  he  took  out  the  plain  sheet  of  note- 
paper  on  which  was  written : 


THE  COMEDY  OF  A  SHEEPFOLD  285 

CABLEQEAM 
[WlNKELRIED,  VlENNA. 

JSTot  later  than  Friday. 

CHATJVENET. 

\ 
Claiborne  read  and  re-read  these  eight  words ;  then  he 

spoke  bluntly  to  Oscar. 

"Where  did  you  get  this  ?" 

"From  the  hat  of  the  sheep-stealer  up  yonder." 

"Who  is  he  and  where  did  he  get  it?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir.  He  was  of  Servia,  and  they  are 
an  ugly  race — yes  ?" 

"What  were  you  going  to  do  with  the  paper?" 

Oscar  grinned. 

"If  I  could  read  it — yes ;  I  might  know ;  hut  if  Aus 
tria  is  in  the  paper,  then  it  is  mischief;  and  maybe  it 
would  be  murder ;  v:ho  knows  ?" 

Claiborne  looked  frowningly  from  the  paper  to  Os 
car's  tranquil  eyes. 

"Dick !"  called  Shirley  from  the  hall,  and  she  ap 
peared  in  the  doorway,  drawing  on  her  gloves;  but 
paused  at  seeing  Oscar. 

"Shirley,  I  caught  this  man  in  the  sheepfold.  Did 
you  ever  see  him  before  ?" 

"I  think  not,  Dick." 


286         THE    PORT    OF    MISSING    MEN 

"It  was  he  that  brought  your  horse  home." 

"To  be  sure  it  is !  I  hadn't  recognized  him.  Thank 
you  very  much ;"  and  she  smiled  at  Oscar. 

Dick  frowned  fiercely  and  referred  again  to  the  paper. 

"Where  is  Monsieur  Chauvenet — have  you  any  idea  ?" 

"If  he  isn't  at  the  hotel  or  in  Washington,  I'm  sure  I 
'don't  know.  If  we  are  going  to  the  dance — " 

"Plague  the  dance !  I  heard  a  shot  in  the  sheep  pas 
ture  a  bit  ago  and  ran  out  to  find  this  fellow  in  a  row 
with  another  man,  who  got  away." 

"I  heard  the  shot  and  the  dogs  from  my  window.  You 
seem  to  have  been  in  a  fuss,  too,  from  the  looks  of  your 
clothes ;"  and  Shirley  sat  down  and  smoothed  her  gloves 
with  provoking  coolness. 

Dick  sent  Oscar  to  the  far  end  of  the  library  with  a 
gesture,  and  neld  up  the  message  for  Shirley  to  read. 

"Don't  touch  it !"  he  exclaimed ;  and  when  she  nodded 
her  head  in  sign  that  she  had  read  it,  he  said,  speaking 
earnestly  and  rapidly : 

"I  suppose  I  have  no  right  to  hold  this  message;  I 

)must  send  the  man  to  the  hotel  telegraph  office  with  it. 

But  where  is  Chauvenet?   What  is  his  business  in  the 

valley  ?  And  what  is  the  link  between  Vienna  and  these 

hills?" 


THE  COMEDY  OF  A  SHEEPFOLD   287 

"Don't  you  know  what  you  are  doing  here?"  she 
[asked.,  and  he  flushed. 

"I  know  what,  but  not  why!"  he  blurted  irritably;: 
"but  that's  enough !" 

"You  know  that  Baron  von  Marhof  wants  to  find  Mr. 
John  Annitage ;  but  you  don't  know  why." 

"I  have  my  orders  and  I'm  going  to  find  him,  if  it 
takes  ten  years." 

Shirley  nodded  and  clasped  her  fingers  together.  Her 
elbows  resting  on  the  high  arms  of  her  chair  caused  her 
cloak  to  flow  sweepingly  away  from  her  shoulders.  At 
the  end  of  the  room,  with  his  back  to  the  portieres,  stood 
Oscar,  immovable.  Claiborne  reexamined  the  message, 
and  extended  it  again  to  Shirley. 

"There's  no  doubt  of  that  being  Chauvenet's  writing, 
is  there  ?" 

"I  think  not,  Dick.  I  have  had  notes  from  him  now 
and  then  in  that  hand.  He  has  taken  pains  to  write  this 
with  unusual  distinctness." 

The  color  brightened  in  her  cheeks  suddenly  as  she 
looked  toward  Oscar.  The  curtains  behind  him  swayed, 
but  so  did  the  curtain  back  of  her.  A  May-time  lan 
guor  had  crept  into  the  heart  of  April,  and  all  the  win 
dows  were  open.  The  blurred  murmurs  of  insects  stole 


288         THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

into  the  house.  Oscar,  half-forgotten  by  his  captor, 
heard  a  sound  in  the  window  behind  him  and  a  hand 
touched  him  through  the  curtain. 

Claiborne  crumpled  the  paper  impatiently. 

"Shirley,  you  are  against  me !  I  believe  you  have  seen 
Armitage  here,  and  I  want  you  to  tell  me  what  you  know 
of  him.  It  is  not  like  you  to  shield  a  scamp  of  an  ad 
venturer — an  unknown,  questionable  character.  He  has 
followed  you  to  this  valley  and  will  involve  you  in  his 
affairs  without  the  slightest  compunction,  if  he  can.  It's 
most  infamous,  outrageous,  and  when  I  find  him  I'm 
going  to  thrash  him  within  an  inch  of  his  life  before  I 
turn  him  over  to  Marhof !" 

Shirley  laughed  for  the  first  time  in  their  interview, 
and  rose  and  placed  her  hands  on  her  brother's  shoul 
ders. 

"Do  it,  Dick !  He's  undoubtedly  a  wicked,  a  terribly 
wicked  and  dangerous  character." 

"I  tell  you  I'll  find  him,"  he  said  tensely,  putting  up 
his  hands  to  hers,  where  they  rested  on  his  shoulders. 
She  laughed  and  kissed  him,  and  when  her  hands  fell 
to  her  side  the  message  was  in  her  gloved  fingers. 

"I'll  help  you,  Dick,"  she  said,  buttoning  her  glove. 

"That's  like  you,  Shirley." 


THE  COMEDY  OP  A  SHEEPPOLD   289 

"If  you  want  to  find  Mr.  Armitage — " 

"Of  course  I  want  to  find  him — "  His  voice  rose  to 

roar. 

"Then  turn  around;  Mr.  Armitage  is  just  behind 
ou!" 

"Yes ;  I  needed  my  man  for  other  business,"  said  Ar- 
litage,  folding  his  arms,  "and  as  you  were  very  much 
ccupied  I  made  free  with  the  rear  veranda  and  changed 
ilaces  with  him." 

Claiborne  walked  slowly  toward  him,  the  anger  glow- 
ng  in  his  face. 

"You  are  worse  than  I  thought — eavesdropper,  house 
breaker  !" 

"Yes:  I  am  both  those  things,  Captain  Claiborne. 
But  I  am  also  in  a  great  hurry.  What  do  you  want  with 
me?" 

"You  are  a  rogue,  an  impostor — " 

"We  will  grant  that,"  said  Armitage  quietly.  "Where 
is  your  warrant  for  my  arrest  ?" 

"That  will  be  forthcoming  fast  enough !  I  want  you 
to  understand  that  I  have  a  personal  grievance  against 
you." 

"It  must  wait  until  day  after  to-morrow,  Captain 


290         THE    POET    OF    MISSING    MEN 

Claiborne.  I  will  come  to  you  here  or  wherever  you  say 
on  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

Armitage  spoke  with  a  deliberate  sharp  decision  that 
was  not  the  tone  of  a  rogue  or  a  fugitive.  As  he  spoke 
he  advanced  until  he  faced  Claiborne  in  the  center  of 
the  room.  Shirley  still  stood  by  the  window,  holding  the 
soiled  paper  in  her  hand.  She  had  witnessed  the  change 
of  men  at  the  end  of  the  room ;  it  had  touched  her  hu 
mor;  it  had  been  a  joke  on  her  brother;  but  she  felt 
that  the  night  had  brought  a  crisis :  she  could  not  con 
tinue  to  shield  a  man  of  whom  she  knew  nothing  save 
that  he  was  the  object  of  a  curious  enmity.  Her  idle 
prayer  that  her  own  land's  commonplace  sordidness 
might  be  obscured  by  the  glamour  of  Old  World  ro 
mance  came  back  to  her ;  she  had  been  in  touch  with  an 
adventure  that  was  certainly  proving  fruitful  of  diver 
sion.  The  coup  de  theatre  by  which  Armitage  had  taken 
the  place  of  his  servant  had  amused  her  for  a  moment ; 
but  she  was  vexed  and  angry  now  that  he  had  dared 
come  again  to  the  house. 

"You  are  under  arrest,  Mr.  Armitage;  I  must  detain 
you  here,"  said  Claiborne. 

"In  America — in  free  Virginia — without  legal  pro 
cess  ?"  asked  Armitage,  laughing. 


THE    COMEDY    OF    A    SHEEPFOLD      29! 

"You  are  a  housebreaker,  that  is  enough.  Shirley, 
please  go !" 

"You  were  not  detached  from  the  army  to  find  a' 
housebreaker.  But  I  will  make  your  work  easy  for  you 
— day  after  to-morrow  I  will  present  myself  to  you  wher 
ever  you  say.  But  now — that  cable  message  which  rny 
man  found  in  your  sheep  pasture  is  of  importance.  I 
must  trouble  you  to  read  it  to  me/' 

"No  \"  shouted  Claiborne. 

Armitage  drew  a  step  nearer. 

"You  must  take  my  word  for  it  that  matters  of  im 
portance,  of  far-reaching  consequence,  hang  upon  that 
message.  I  must  know  what  it  is." 

<fYou  certainly  have  magnificent  cheek!  I  am  going 
to  take  that  paper  to  Baron  von  Marhof  at  once." 

"Do  so  ! — but  7  must  know  first !  Baron  von  Marhof 
and  I  are  on  the  same  side  in  this  business,  but  he  doesn't 
understand  it,  and  it  is  clear  you  don't.  Give  me  the 
message !" 

He  spoke  eommandingly,  his  voice  thrilling  with  ear 
nestness,  and  jerked  out  his  last  words  with  angry  impa 
tience.  At  the  same  moment  he  and  Claiborne  stepped 
toward  each  other,  with  their  hands  clenched  at  their 
sides. 


292         THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

"I  don't  like  your  tone,  Mr.  Armitage !" 

"I  don't  like  to  use  that  tone,  Captain  Claiborne." 

Shirley  walked  quickly  to  the  table  and  put  down  the 
message.  Then,  going  to  the  door,  she  paused  as  though 
by  an  afterthought,  and  repeated  quite  slowly  the  words : 

"Winkelried — Vienna — not  later  than  Friday — Chau- 
venet." 

"Shirley !"  roared  Claiborne. 

John  Armitage  bowed  to  the  already  vacant  doorway; 
then  bounded  into  the  hall  out  upon  the  veranda  and 
ran  through  the  garden  to  the  side  gate,  where  Oscar 
waited. 

Half  an  hour  later  Captain  Claiborne,  after  an  inter 
view  with  Baron  von  Marhof,  turned  his  horse  toward 
the  hills. 


CHAPTEE  XXII 

THE  PRISONER  AT  THE  BUNGALOW 

So,  exultant  of  heart,  with  front  toward  the  bridges  of 
battle, 

Sat  they  the  whole  night  long,  and  the  fires  that  they  kin 
dled  were  many. 

E'en  as  the  stars  in  her  train,  with  the  moon  as  she  walketh 
in  splendor, 

Blaze  forth  bright  in  the  heavens  on  nights  when  the  welkin 
is  breathless, 

Nights  when  the  mountain  peaks,  their  jutting  cliffs,  and 
the  valleys, 

All  are  disclosed  to  the  eye,  and  above  them  the  fathomless 
ether 

Opens  to  star  after  star,  and  glad  is  the  heart  of  the  shep 
herd — 

Such  and  so  many  the  fires  'twixt  the  ships  and  the  streams 
of  the  Xanthus 

Kept  ablaze  by  the  Trojans  in  front  of  the  darkening  city. 

Over  the  plains  were  burning  a  thousand  fires,  and  beside 
them 

Each  sat  fifty  men  in  the  firelight  glare;  and  the  horses, 

Champing  their  fodder  and  barley  white,  and  instant  for 
action, 

Stood  by  the  chariot-side  and  awaited  the  glory  of  morning. 
The  Iliad:  Translation  of  Prentiss  Cummings. 

"In  Vienna,  Friday!" 

"There  should  be  great  deeds,  my  dear  Jules;"  and 
293 


294         THE    POET    OF.   MISSING   MEN" 

Monsieur  Durand  adjusted  the  wick  of  a  smoking  brass 
lamp  that  hung  suspended  from  the  ceiling  of  a  room 
of  the  inn,  store  and  post-office  at  Lamar. 

"Meanwhile,  this  being  but  Wednesday,  we  have  our 
work  to  do." 

"Which  is  not  so  simple  after  all,  as  one  studies  the 
situation.  Mr.  Armitage  is  here,  quite  within  reach.  We 
suspect  him  of  being  a  person  of  distinction.  He  evinced 
unusual  interest  in  a  certain  document  that  was  once  in 
your  own  hands — '' 

"Our  own  hands,  if  you  would  be  accurate !" 

"You  are  captious ;  but  granted  so,  we  must  get  them 
back.  The  gentleman  is  dwelling  in  a  bungalow  on  the 
mountain  side,  for  greater  convenience  in  watching 
events  and  wooing  the  lady  of  his  heart's  desire.  We 
employed  a  clumsy  clown  to  put  him  out  of  the  world ; 
but  he  dies  hard,  and  now  we  have  got  to  get  rid  of  him. 
But  if  he  hasn't  the  papers  on  his  clothes  then  you  have 
this  pleasant  scheme  for  kidnapping  him,  getting  him 
down  to  your  steamer  at  Baltimore  and  cruising  with 
him  until  he  is  ready  to  come  to  terms.  The  American 
air  has  done  much  for  your  imagination,  my  dear  Jules ; 
or  possibly  the  altitude  of  the  hills  has  over-stimulated 
it." 


THE   PKISONEK   AT    THE   BUNGALOW    295 

"You  are  not  the  fool  you  look,  my  dear  Durand.  You 
have  actually  taken  a  pretty  fair  grasp  of  the  situation." 

"But  the  adorable  young  lady,  the  fair  Mademoi 
selle  Claiborne, — what  becomes  of  her  in  these  trans 
actions  ?" 

"That  is  none  of  your  affair/'  replied  Chauvenet, 
frowning.  "I  am  quite  content  with  my  progress.  I 
have  not  finished  in  that  matter." 

"Neither,  it  would  seem,  has  Mr.  John  Armitage ! 
But  I  am  quite  well  satisfied  to  leave  it  to  you.  In  a  few 
days  we  shall  know  much  more  than  we  do  now.  I  should 
be  happier  if  you  were  in  charge  in  Vienna.  A  false 
step  there — ugh!  I  hesitate  to  think  of  the  wretched 
mess  there  would  be." 

"Trust  Winkelried  to  do  his  full  duty.  You  must  not 
forget  that  the  acute  Stroebel  now  sleeps  the  long  sleep 
and  that  many  masses  have  already  been  said  for  the  re 
pose  of  his  intrepid  soul." 

"The  splendor  of  our  undertaking  is  enough  to  draw 
his  ghost  from  the  grave.  TJgh!  By  this  time  Zmai 
should  have  filed  our  cablegram  at  the  Springs  and  got 
your  mail  at  the  hotel.  I  hope  you  have  not  misplaced 
your  confidence  in  the  operator  there.  Coming  back,  our 
giant  must  pass  Armitage's  house." 


296 

"Trust  him  to  pass  it !  His  encounters  with  Armitage 
have  not  been  to  his  credit." 

The  two  men  were  dressed  in  rough  clothes,  as  for 
an  outing,  and  in  spite  of  the  habitual  trifling  tone  of 
their  talk,  they  wore  a  serious  air.  Durand's  eyes  danced 
with  excitement  and  he  twisted  his  mustache  nervously. 
Chauvenet  had  gone  to  Washington  to  meet  Durand,  to 
get  from  him  news  of  the  progress  of  the  conspiracy 
in  Vienna,  and,  not  least,  to  berate  him  for  crossing  the 
Atlantic.  "I  do  not  require  watching,  my  dear  Durand," 
he  had  said. 

"A  man  in  love,  dearest  Jules,  sometimes  forgets;" 
but  they  had  gone  into  the  Virginia  hills  amicably  and 
were  quartered  with  the  postmaster.  They  waited  now 
for  Zmai.  whom  they  had  sent  to  the  Springs  with  a 
message  and  to  get  Chauvenet's  mail.  Armitage,  they 
had  learned,  used  the  Lamar  telegraph  office  and  they 
had  decided  to  carry  their  business  elsewhere. 

While  they  waited  in  the  bare  upper  room  of  the  inn 
for  Zmai,  the  big  Servian  tramped  up  the  mountain  side 
with  an  aching  head  and  a  heart  heavy  with  dread.  The 
horse  he  had  left  tied  in  a  thicket  when  he  plunged  down 
through  the  Claiborne  place  had  broken  free  and  run 
away;  so  that  he  must  now  trudge  back  afoot  to  report 


THE   PKISONEK   AT   THE   BUNGALOW    297 

to  his  masters.  He  had  made  a  mess  of  his  errands  and 
nearly  lost  his  life  besides.  The  bullet  from  Oscar's  re 
volver  had  cut  a  neat  furrow  in  his  scalp,  which  was 
growing  sore  and  stiff  as  it  ceased  bleeding.  He  would 
undoubtedly  be  dealt  with  harshly  by  Chauvenet  and 
Durand,  but  he  knew  that  the  sooner  he  reported  his 
calamities  the  better;  so  he  stumbled  toward  Lamar, 
pausing  at  times  to  clasp  his  small  head  in  his  great 
hands.  When  he  passed  the  wild  tangle  that  hid  Armi- 
tage's  bungalow  he  paused  and  cursed  the  two  occupants 
in  his  own  dialect  with  a  fierce  vile  tongue.  It  was  near 
midnight  when  he  reached  the  tavern  and  climbed  the 
rickety  stairway  to  the  room  where  the  two  men  waited. 

Chauvenet  opened  the  door  at  his  approach,  and  they 
cried  aloud  as  the  great  figure  appeared  before  them  and 
the  lamplight  fell  upon  his  dark  blood-smeared  face. 

"The  letters !"  snapped  Chauvenet. 

"Is  the  message  safe  ?"  demanded  Durand. 

"Lost;  lost;  they  are  lost!  I  lost  my  way  and  he 
nearly  killed  me, — the  little  soldier, — as  I  crossed  a 
strange  field." 

When  they  had  jerked  the  truth  from  Zmai,  Chauve 
net  flung  open  the  door  and  bawled  through  the  house 
for  the  innkeeper. 


298         THE    TORT    OF    MISSING    MEN 

"Horses;  saddle  our  two  horses  quick — and  get  an 
other  if  you  have  to  steal  it"  he  screamed.  Then  he 
turned  into  the  room  to  curse  Zmai,  while  Durand  with 
a  towel  and  water  sought  to  ease  the  ache  in  the  big  fel 
low's  head  and  cleanse  his  face. 

"So  that  beggarly  little  servant  did  it,  did  he?  He 
stole  that  paper  I  had  given  you,  did  he  ?  What  do  you 
imagine  I  brought  you  to  this  country  for  if  you  are  to 
let  two  stupid  fools  play  with  you  as  though  you  were  a 
clown  ?" 

The  Servian,  on  his  knees  before  Durand,  suffered  the 
torrent  of  abuse  meekly.  He  was  a  scoundrel,  hired  to 
do  murder ;  and  his  vilification  by  an  angered  employer 
did  not  greatly  trouble  him,  particularly  since  he  under 
stood  little  of  Chauvenet's  rapid  German. 

In  half  an  hour  Chauvenet  was  again  in  a  fury,  learn 
ing  at  Lamar  that  the  operator  had  gone  down  the  road 
twenty  miles  to  a  dance  and  would  not  be  back  until 
morning. 

The  imperturbable  Durand  shivered  in  the  night  air 
and  prodded  Chauvenet  with  ironies. 

"We  have  no  time  to  lose.  That  message  must  go  to 
night.  You  may  be  sure  Monsieur  Armitage  will  not 


THE   PRISONER   AT   THE   BUNGALOW    299 

send  it  for  us.  Come,  we've  got  to  go  down  to  Storm 
Springs." 

They  rode  away  in  the  starlight,  leaving  the  postmas 
ter  alarmed  and  wondering.  Chauvenet  and  Durand 
were  well  mounted  on  horses  that  Chauvenet  had  sent 
into  the  hills  in  advance  of  his  own  coming.  Zmai  rode 
grim  and  silent  on  a  clumsy  plow-horse,  which  was  the 
best  the  publican  could  find  for  him.  The  knife  was  not 
the  only  weapon  he  had  known  in  Servia;  he  carried  a 
potato  sack  across  his  saddle-bow.  Chauvenet  and  Du 
rand  sent  him  ahead  to  set  the  pace  with  his  inferior 
mount.  They  talked  together  in  low  tones  as  they  fol 
lowed. 

"He  is  not  so  big  a  fool,  this  Armitage,"  remarked 
Durand.  "He  is  quite  deep,  in  fact.  I  wish  it  were  he 
we  are  trying  to  establish  on  a  throne,  and  not  that  piti 
ful  scapegrace  in  Vienna." 

"I  gave  him  his  chance  down  there  in  the  valley  and 
he  laughed  at  me.  It  is  quite  possible  that  he  is  not  a 
fool ;  and  quite  certain  that  he  is  not  a  coward." 

"Then  he  would  not  be  a  safe  king.  Our  young  friend 
in  Vienna  is  a  good  deal  of  a  fool  and  altogether  a  cow 
ard.  We  shall  have  to  provide  him  with  a  spine  at  his 
coronation." 


300         THE    PORT   OF   MISSING   MEN 

"If  we  fail — "  began  Chauvenet. 

"You  suggest  a  fruitful  but  unpleasant  topic.  If  we 
fail  we  shall  be  fortunate  if  we  reach  the  hospitable 
shores  of  the  Argentine  for  future  residence.  Paris  and 
Vienna  would  not  know  us  again.  If  Winkelried  suc 
ceeds  in  Vienna  and  we  lose  here,  where  do  we  arrive?" 

"We  arrive  quite  where  Mr.  Armitage  chooses  to  land 
us.  He  is  a  gentleman  of  resources ;  he  has  money ;  he 
laughs  cheerfully  at  misadventures;  he  has  had  you 
watched  by  the  shrewdest  eyes  in  Europe, — and  you  are 
considered  a  hard  man  to  keep  track  of,  my  dear  Du- 
rand.  And  not  least  important, — he  has  to-night 
snatched  away  that  little  cablegram  that  was  the  signal 
to  Winkelried  to  go  ahead.  He  is  a  very  annoying  and 
vexatious  person,  this  Armitage.  Even  Zmai,  whose 
knife  made  him  a  terror  in  Servia,  seems  unable  to  cope 
with  him." 

"And  the  fair  daughter  of  the  valley — 

"Pish !  We  are  not  discussing  the  young  lady." 
>(  "I  can  understand  how  unpleasant  the  subject  must 
be  to  you,  my  dear  Jules.  What  do  you  imagine  she 
knows  of  Monsieur  Armitage  ?  If  he  is  the  man  we  think 
he  is  and  a  possible  heir  to  a  great  throne  it  would  be 
impossible  for  her  to  marry  him." 


"His  tastes  are  democratic.  In  Montana  he  is  quite 
popular/' 

Durand  flung  away  his  cigarette  and  laughed  sud 
denly. 

"Has  it  occurred  to  you  that  this  whole  affair  is  de 
cidedly  amusing  ?  Here  we  are,  in  one  of  the  free  Amer 
ican  states,  about  to  turn  a  card  that  will  dethrone  a 
king,  if  we  are  lucky.  And  here  is  a  man  we  are  trying 
to  get  out  of  the  way — a  man  we  might  make  king  if  he 
were  not  a  fool !  In  America !  It  touches  my  sense  of 
humor,  my  dear  Jules !" 

An  exclamation  from  Zmai  arrested  them.  The  Serv 
ian  jerked  up  his  horse  and  they  were  instantly  at  his 
side.  They  had  reached  a  point  near  the  hunting  pre 
serve  in  the  main  highway.  It  was  about  half -past  one 
o'clock,  an  hour  at  which  Virginia  mountain  roads  are 
usually  free  of  travelers,  and  they  had  been  sending 
their  horses  along  as  briskly  as  the  uneven  roads  and  the 
pace  of  Zmai's  laggard  beast  permitted. 

The  beat  of  a  horse's  hoofs  could  be  heard  quite  dis 
tinctly  in  the  road  ahead  of  them.  The  road  tended 
downward,  and  the  strain  of  the  ascent  was  marked  in 
the  approaching  animal's  walk;  in  a  moment  the  three 
men  heard  the  horse's  quick  snort  of  satisfaction  as  it 


302         THE   PORT   OF   MISSING   MEN 

reached  leveler  ground ;  then  scenting  the  other  animals, 
it  threw  up  its  head  and  neighed  shrilly. 

In  the  dusk  of  starlight  Durand  saw  Zmai  dismount 
and  felt  the  Servian's  big  rough  hand  touch  his  in  pass 
ing  the  bridle  of  his  horse. 

"Wait !"  said  the  Servian. 

The  horse  of  the  unknown  paused,  neighed  again,  and 
refused  to  go  farther.  A  man's  deep  voice  encouraged 
him  in  low  tones.  The  horse,  of  Chauvenet's  party 
danced  about  restlessly,  responsive  to  the  nervousness  of 
the  strange  beast  before  them. 

"Who  goes  there?" 

The  stranger's  horse  was  quiet  for  an  instant  and  the 
rider  had  forced  him  so  near  that  the  beast's  up-reined 
head  and  the  erect  shoulders  of  the  horseman  were  quite 
clearly  defined. 

"Who  goes  there?"  shouted  the  rider;  while  Chauve- 
net  and  Durand  bent  their  eyes  toward  him,  their  hands 
tight  on  their  bridles,  and  listened,  waiting  for  Zmai. 
They  heard  a  sudden  rush  of  steps,  the  impact  of  his 
giant  body  as  he  flung  himself  upon  the  shrinking  horse ; 
and  then  a  cry  of  alarm  and  rage.  Chauvenet  slipped 
down  and  ran  forward  with  the  quick,  soft  glide  of  a 
cat  and  caught  the  bridle  of  the  stranger's  horse.  The 


THE    PBISONER   AT   THE   BUNGALOW    303 

horseman  struggled  in  Zmai's  great  arms,  and  his  beast 
plunged  wildly.  No  words  passed.  The  rider  had  kicked 
his  feet  out  of  the  stirrups  and  gripped  the  horse  hard 
with  his  legs.  His  arms  were  flung  up  to  protect  his 
head,  over  which  Zmai  tried  to  force  the  sack 

"The  knife?"  bawled  the  Servian. 

"No !"  answered  Chauvenet. 

"The  devil !"  yelled  the  rider ;  and  dug  his  spurs  into 
the  rearing  beast's  flanks. 

Chauvenet  held  on  valiantly  with  both  hands  to  the 
horse's  head.  Once  the  frightened  beast  swung  him  clear 
of  the  ground.  A  few  yards  distant  Durand  sat  on  his 
own  horse  and  held  the  bridles  of  the  others.  He  soothed 
the  restless  animals  in  low  tones,  the  light  of  his  cigar 
ette  shaking  oddly  in  the  dark  with  the  movement  of 
his  lips. 

The  horse  ceased  to  plunge ;  Zmai  held  its  rider  erect 
with  his  left  arm  while  the  right  drew  the  sack  down 
over  the  head  and  shoulders  of  the  prisoner. 

"Tie  him,"  said  Chauvenet ;  and  Zmai  buckled  a  strap 
tbout  the  man's  arms  and  bound  them  tight. 

The  dust  in  the  bag  caused  the  man  inside  to  cough, 
but  save  for  the  one  exclamation  he  had  not  spoken. 
Chauvenet  and  Durand  conferred  in  low  tones  while 


304         THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN] 

Zmai  drew  out  a  tether  strap  and  snapped  it  to  the  curb- 
bit  of  the  captive's  horse. 

"The  fellow  takes  it  pretty  coolly/'  remarked  Du- 
rand,  lighting  a  fresh  cigarette.  "What  are  you  going 
to  do  with  him?" 

"We  will  take  him  to  his  own  place — it  is  near — and 
coax  the  papers  out  of  him;  then  we'll  find  a  precipice 
and  toss  him  over.  It  is  a  simple  matter." 

Zmai  handed  Chauvenet  the  revolver  he  had  taken 
from  the  silent  man  on  the  horse. 

"I  am  ready,"  he  reported. 

"Go  ahead;  we  follow;"  and  they  started  toward  the 
bungalow,  Zmai  riding  beside  the  captive  and  holding 
fast  to  the  led-horse.  Where  the  road  was  smooth  they 
sent  the  horses  forward  at  a  smart  trot ;  but  the  captive 
accepted  the  gait;  he  found  the  stirrups  again  and  sat 
his  saddle  straight.  He  coughed  now  and  then,  but  the 
hemp  sack  was  sufficiently  porous  to  give  him  a  little 
air.  As  they  rode  off  his  silent  submission  caused  Du- 
rand  to  ask : 

"Are  you  sure  of  the  man,  my  dear  Jules  ?" 

"Undoubtedly.  I  didn't  get  a  square  look  at  him,  but 
he's  a  gentleman  by  the  quality  of  his  clothes.  He  is  the 
same  build;  it  is  not  a  plow-horse^  but  a  thoroughbred 


THE    PKISONER    AT    THE    BUNGALOW    305 

he's  riding.  The  gentlemen  of  the  valley  are  in  their 
beds  long  ago." 

"Would  that  we  were  in  ours !  The  spring  nights  are 
cold  in  these  hills  !" 

"The  work  is  nearly  done.  The  little  soldier  is  yet  to 
reckon  with ;  but  we  are  three ;  and  Zmai  did  quite  well 
with  the  potato  sack." 

Chauvenet  rode  ahead  and  addressed  a  few  words  to 
Zmai. 

"The  little  man  must  be  found  before  we  finish. 
There  must  be  no  mistake  about  it." 

They  exercised  greater  caution  as  they  drew  nearer 
the  wood  that  concealed  the  bungalow,  and  Chauvenet 
dismounted,  opened  the  gate  and  set  a  stone  against  it 
to  insure  a  ready  egress;  then  they  walked  their  horses 
up  the  driveway. 

Admonished  by  Chauvenet,  Durand  threw  away  his 
cigarette  with  a  sigh. 

"You  are  convinced  this  is  the  wise  course,  dearest 
Jules?" 

"Be  quiet  and  keep  your  eyes  open.  There's  the 
house." 

He  halted  the  party,  dismounted  and  crept  forward 
to  the  bungalow.  He  circled  the  veranda,  found  the 


blinds  open,  and  peered  into  the  long  lounging-room, 
where  a  few  embers  smoldered  in  the  broad  fireplace,  and 
an  oil  lamp  shed  a  faint  light.  One  man  they  held  cap 
tive;  the  other  was  not  in  sight;  Chauvenet's  courage 
rose  at  the  prospect  of  easy  victory.  He  tried  the  door, 
found  it  unfastened,  and  with  his  revolver  ready  in  his 
hand,  threw  it  open.  Then  he  walked  slowly  toward  the 
table,  turned  the  wick  of  the  lamp  high,  and  surveyed 
the  room  carefully.  The  doors  of  the  rooms  that  opened 
from  the  apartment  stood  ajar;  he  followed  the  wall 
cautiously,  kicked  them  open,  peered  into  the  room 
where  Armitage's  things  were  scattered  about,  and  found 
his  iron  bed  empty.  Then  he  walked  quickly  to  the 
veranda  and  summoned  the  others. 

"Bring  him  in !"  he  said,  without  taking  his  eyes  from 
the  room. 

A  moment  later  Zmai  had  lifted  the  silent  rider  to 
the  veranda,  and  flung  him  across  the  threshold.  Du- 
rand,  now  aroused,  fastened  the  horses  to  the  veranda 
rail. 

Chauvenet  caught  up  some  candles  from  the  mantel 
and  lighted  them. 

"Open  the  trunks  in  those  rooms  and  be  quick ;  I  will 
join  you  in  a  moment ;"  and  as  Durand  turned  into  Ar- 


THE    PKISOXER   rAT   THE   BUNGALOW    307 

mitage's  room,  Chauvenet  peered  again  into  the  other 
chambers,  called  once  or  twice  in  a  low  tone;  then 
turned  to  Zmai  and  the  prisoner. 

"Take  off  the  bag,"  he  commanded. 

Chauvenet  studied  the  lines  of  the  erect,  silent  figure 
as  Zmai  loosened  the  strap,  drew  off  the  bag,  and  stepped 
back  toward  the  table  on  which  he  had  laid  his  revolver 
for  easier  access. 

"Mr.  John  Armitage — " 

Chauvenet,  his  revolver  half  raised,  had  begun  an 
ironical  speech,  but  the  words  died  on  his  lips.  The  man 
who  stood  blinking  from  the  sudden  burst  of  light  was 
not  John  Armitage,  but  Captain  Claiborne. 

The  perspiration  on  Claiborne's  face  had  made  a  paste 
of  the  dirt  from  the  potato  sack,  which  gave  him  a  weird 
appearance.  He  grinned  broadly,  adding  a  fantastic  hor 
ror  to  his  visage  which  caused  Zmai  to  le*ap  back  toward 
the  door.  Then  Chauvenet  cried  aloud,  a  cry  of  anger, 
which  brought  Durand  into  the  hall  at  a  jump.  Clai 
borne  shrugged  his  shoulders,  shook  the  blood  into  his 
numbed  arms;  then  turned  his  besmeared  face  toward 
Durand  and  laughed.  He  laughed  long  and  loud  as  the 
stupefaction  deepened  on  the  faces  of  the  two  men. 

The  objects  which  Durand  held  caused  Claiborne  to 


308         THE   PORT   OF   MISSING   MEN 

stare,  and  then  he  laughed  again.  Durand  had  caught 
up  from  a  hook  in  Armitage's  room  a  black  cloak,  so 
long  that  it  trailed  at  length  from  his  arms,  its  red  lin 
ing  glowing  brightly  where  'it  lay  against  the  outer 
black.  From  the  folds  of  the  cloak  a  sword,  plucked 
from  a  trunk,  dropped  upon  the  floor  with  a  gleam  of 
its  bright  scabbard.  In  his  right  hand  he  held  a  silver 
box  of  orders,  and  as  his  arm  fell  at  the  sight  of  Clai- 
borne,  the  gay  ribbons  and  gleaming  pendants  flashed 
to  the  floor. 

"It  is  not  Armitage ;  we  have  made  a  mistake !"  mut 
tered  Chauvenet  tamely,  his  eyes  falling  from  Clai- 
borne's  face  to  the  cloak,  the  sword,  the  tangled  heap  of 
ribbons  on  the  floor. 

Durand  stepped  forward  with  an  oath. 

"Who  is  the  man  ?"  he  demanded. 

"It  is  my  friend  Captain  Claiborne.  We  owe  the  gen 
tleman  an  apology — "  Chauvenet  began. 

"You  put  it  mildly,"  cried  Claiborne  in  English,  his 
back  to  the  fireplace,  his  arms  folded,  and  the  smile 
gone  from  his  face.  "I  don't  know  your  companions, 
Monsieur  Chauvenet,  but  you  seem  inclined  to  the 
gentle  arts  of  kidnapping  and  murder.  Eeally,  Mon 
sieur — " 


"It  is  a  mistake!  It  is  unpardonable!  I  can  only 
offer  you  reparation — anything  you  ask,"  stammered 
Chauvenet. 

"You  are  looking  for  John  Armitage,  are  you?"  de 
manded  Claiborne  hotly,  without  heeding  Chauvenet's 
words.  "Mr.  Armitage  is  not  here;  he  was  in  Storm 
Springs  to-night,  at  my  house.  He  is  a  brave  gentleman, 
and  I  warn  you  that  you  will  injure  him  at  your  peril. 
You  may  kill  me  here  or  strangle  me  or  stick  a  knife 
into  me,  if  you  will  be  better  satisfied  that  way ;  or  you 
may  kill  him  and  hide  his  body  in  these  hills ;  but,  by 
God,  there  will  be  no  escape  for  you !  The  highest  pow 
ers  of  my  government  know  t"hat  I  am  here;  Baron  von 
Marhof  knows  that  I  am  here.  I  have  an  engagement  to 
breakfast  with  Baron  von  Marhof  at  his  house  at  eight 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  if  I  am  not  there  every 
agency  of  the  government  will  be  put  to  work  to  find 
you,  Mr.  Jules  Chauvenet,  and  these  other  scoundrels 
who  travel  with  you." 

"You  are  violent,  my  dear  sir — "  began  Durand, 
whose  wits  were  coming  back  to  him  much  quicker  than 
Chauvenet's. 

"I  am  not  as  violent  as  I  shall  be  if  I  get  a  troop  of 
cavalry  from  Fort  Myer  down  here  and  hunt  you  like 


310         THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN" 

rabbits  through  the  hills.  And  I  advise  you  to  cable 
Winkelried  at  Vienna  that  the  game  is  all  off !" 

Chauvenet  suddenly  jumped  toward  the  table,  the  re 
volver  still  swinging  at  arm's  length. 

"You  know  too  much !" 

"I  don't  know  any  more  than  Armitage,  and  Baron 
von  Marhof  and  my  father,  and  the  Honorable  Secre 
tary  of  State,  to  say  nothing  of  the  equally  Honorable 
Secretary  of  War." 

Claiborne  stretched  out  his  arms  and  rested  them 
along  the  shelf  of  the  mantel,  and  smiled  with  a  smile 
which  the  dirt  on  his  face  weirdly  accented.  His  hat 
was  gone,  his  short  hair  rumpled ;  he  dug  the  bricks  of 
the  hearth  with  the  toe  of  his  riding-boot  as  an  em 
phasis  of  his  contentment  with  the  situation. 

"You  don't  understand  the  gravity  of  our  labors. 
The  peace  of  a  great  Empire  is  at  stake  in  this  busi 
ness.  We  are  engaged  on  .a  patriotic  mission  of  great 
importance/' 

It  was  Durand  who  spoke.  Outside,  Zmai  held  the 
horses  in  readiness. 

"You  are  a  fine  pair  of  patriots,  I  swear,"  said  Clai 
borne.  "What  in  the  devil  do  you  want  with  John  Armi- 
tage?" 


THE    PEISONEE   AT   THE   BUNGALOW    311 

"He  is  a  menace  to  a  great  throne — an  impostor 
—a—" 

Chauvenet's  eyes  swept  with  a  swift  glance  the  cloak, 
the  sword,  the  scattered  orders.  Claiborne  followed  the 
man's  gaze,  but  he  looked  quickly  toward  Durand  and 
Chauvenet,  not  wishing  them  to  see  that  the  sight  of 
these  things  puzzled  him. 

"Pretty  trinkets!  But  such  games  as  yours,  these 
pretty  baubles — are  not  for  these  free  hills." 

"Where  is  John  Armitagef 

Chauvenet  half  raised  his  right  arm  as  he  spoke  and 
the  steel  of  his  revolver  flashed. 

Claiborne  did  not  move;  he  smiled  upon  them,  re- 
crossed  his  legs,  and  settled  his  back  more  comfortably 
against  the  mantel-shelf. 

"I  really  forget  where  he  said  he  would  be  at  this 
hour.  He  and  his  man  may  have  gone  to  Washington, 
or  they  may  have  started  for  Vienna,  or  they  may  be  in . 
conference  with  Baron  von  Marhof  at  my  father's,  or 
they  may  be  waiting  for  you  at  the  gate.  The  Lord  only 
knows  I" 

"Come ;  we  waste  time,"  said  Durand  in  French.  "It 
is  a  trap.  We  must  not  be  caught  here !" 

"Yes;  you'd  better  go,"  said  Claiborne,  yawning  and 


312         THE    PORT    OF    MISSING    MEX 

settling  himself  in  a  new  pose  with  his  back  still  to  the 
fireplace.  **I  don't  believe  Annitage  will  care  if  I  use 
his  bungalow  occasionally  during  my  sojourn  in  the 
bills;  and  if  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  leave  my  horse 
well  tied  out  there  somewhere  I  believe  I'll  go  to  bed. 
I'm  sorry,  Mr.  Chauvenet,  that  I  can't  just  remember 
who  introduced  you  to  me  and  my  family.  I  owe  that 
person  a  debt  of  gratitude  for  bringing  so  pleasant  a 
scoundrel  to  my  notice," 

He  stepped  to  the  table,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and 
bowed  to  them. 

''Good  night,  and  clear  out/'  and  he  waved  his  arm 
in  dismissal. 

"'Come  P  said  Durand  peremptorily,  and  as  Chauve 
net  hesitated.  Durand  seized  him  by  the  arm  and  pulled 
him  toward  the  door. 

As  they  mounted  and  turned  to  go  they  saw  Claiborne 
standing  at  the  table,  lighting  a  cigarette  from  one  of 
the  candles.  He  walked  to  the  veranda  and  listened  until 
he  was  satisfied  that  they  had  gone ;  then  went  in  and 
closed  the  door.  He  picked  up  the  cloak  and  sword  and 
restored  the  itimgm*  to  the  silver  box.  The  sword  he 
examined  with  professional  interest,  running  his  hand 


THE    PRISONER    AT    THE   BUNGALOW    313 

over  the  embossed  scabbard,  then  drawing  the  bright 
blade  and  trying  its  balance  and  weight. 

As  he  held  it  thus,  heavy  steps  sounded  at  the  rear  of 
the  house,  a  door  was  flung  open  and  Annitage  sprang 
into  the  room  with  Oscar  close  at  his  heels. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

i 

THE  VERGE  OF   MORNING 

O  to  mount  again  where  erst  I  haunted; 
Where  the  old  red  hills  are  bird-enchanted, 
And  the  low  green  meadows 

Bright  with  sward  ; 

And  when  even  dies,  the  million-tinted, 
And  the  night  has  come,  and  planets  glinted, 
Lo!  the  valley  hollow, 
Lamp-bestarr'd. 

— R.  L.  S. 

"I  hope  you  like  my  things,  Captain  Claiborne !" 

Armitage  stood  a  little  in  advance,  his  hand  on  Os 
car's  arm  to  check  the  rush  of  the  little  man. 

Claiborne  sheathed  the  sword,  placed  it  on  the  table 
and  folded  his  arms. 

<cYes ;  they  are  very  interesting/' 

"And  those  ribbons  and  that  cloak, — I  assure  you  they 
are  of  excellent  quality.  Oscar,  put  a  blanket  on  this 
gentleman's  horse.  Then  make  some  coffee  and  wait." 

As  Oscar  closed  the  door,  Armitage  crossed  to  the 
314 


THE   VEKGE    OF   MOKNING  315 

table,  flung  down  his  gauntlets  and  hat  and  turned  to 
Claiborne. 

"I  didn't  expect  this  of  you ;  I  really  didn't  expect  it. 
Now  that  you  have  found  me,  what  in  the  devil  do  you 
want?" 

"I  don't  know — I'll  be  damned  if  I  know !"  and  Clai 
borne  grinned,  so  that  the  grotesque  lines  of  his  soiled 
countenance  roused  Armitage's  slumbering  wrath. 

"You'd  better  find  out  damned  quick!  This  is  my 
busy  night  and  if  you  can't  explain  yourself  I'm  going 
to  tie  you  hand  and  foot  and  drop  you  down  the  well  till 
I  finish  my  work.  Speak  up!  What  are  you  doing  on 
my  grounds,  in  my  house,  at  this  hour  of  the  night,  pry 
ing  into  my  affairs  and  rummaging  in  my  trunks  ?" 

"I  didn't  come  here,  Armitage;  I  was  brought — with 
a  potato  sack  over  my  head.  There's  the  sack  on  the 
floor,  and  any  of  its  dirt  that  isn't  on  my  face  must  be 
permanently  settled  in  my  lungs." 

"What  are  you  doing  up  here  in  the  mountains — why 
are  you  not  at  your  station?  The  potato-sack  story  is 
pretty  flimsy.  Do  better  than  that  and  hurry  up !" 

"Armitage" — as  he  spoke,  Claiborne  walked  to  the 
table  and  rested  his  finger-tips  on  it — "Armitage,  you 
and  I  have  made  some  mistakes  during  our  short  ac- 


316         THE   POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

quaintance.  I  will  tell  you  frankly  that  I  have  blown 
hot  and  cold  about  you  as  I  never  did  before  with  an 
other  man  in  my  life.  On  the  ship  coming  over  and 
when  I  met  you  in  Washington  I  thought  well  of  you. 
Then  your  damned  cigarette  case  shook  my  confidence 
in  you  there  at  the  Army  and  Navy  Club  that  night; 
and  now — " 

"Damn  my  cigarette  case !"  bellowed  Armitage,  clap 
ping  his  hand  to  his  pocket  to  make  sure  of  it. 

"That's  what  I  say !  But  it  was  a  disagreeable  situa 
tion, — you  must  admit  that." 

"It  was,  indeed !" 

"It  requires  some  nerve  for  a  man  to  tell  a  circum 
stantial  story  like  that  to  a  tableful  of  gentlemen,  about 
one  of  the  gentlemen !" 

"No  doubt  of  it  whatever,  Mr.  Claiborne." 

Armitage  unbuttoned  his  coat,  and  jerked  back  the 
lapels  impatiently. 

"And  I  knew  as  much  about  Monsieur  Chauvenet  as 
I  did  about  you,  or  as  I  do  about  you !" 

"What  you  know  of  him,  Mr.  Claiborne,  is  of  no  con 
sequence.  And  what  you  don't  know  about  me  would 
fill  a  large  volume.  How  did  you  get  here,  and  what  do 
you  propose  doing,  now  that  you  are  here?  I  am  in  a 


THE    VERGE    OF   MORNING  317 

hurry  and  have  no  time  to  waste.  If  I  can't  get  any 
thing  satisfactory  out  of  you  within  two  minutes  I'm 
going  to  chuck  you  back  into  the  sack." 

"I  came  up  here  in  the  hills  to  look  for  you — you — 
you — !  Do  you  understand?"  began  Claiborne  angrily. 
"And  as  I  was  riding  along  the  road  about  two  miles 
from  here  I  ran  into  three  men  on  horseback.  When  I 
stopped  to  parley  with  them  and  find  out  what  they  were 
doing,  they  crept  up  on  me  and  grabbed  my  horse  and 
put  that  sack  over  my  head.  They  had  mistaken  me 
for  you;  and  they  brought  me  here,  into  your  house, 
and  pulled  the  sack  off  and  were  decidedly  disagreeable 
at  finding  they  had  made  a  mistake.  One  of  them  had 
gone  in  to  ransack  your  effects  and  when  they  pulled  off 
the  bag  and  disclosed  the  wrong  hare,  he  dropped  his 
loot  on  the  floor ;  and  then  I  told  them  to  go  to  the  devil, 
and  I  hope  they've  done  it!  When  you  came  in  I  was 
picking  up  your  traps,  and  I  submit  that  the  sword  is 
handsome  enough  to  challenge  anybody's  e}re.  And 
there's  all  there  is  of  the  story,  and  I  don't  care  a  damn 
whether  you  believe  it  or  not." 

Their  eyes  were  fixed  upon  each  other  in  a  gaze  of 
anger  and  resentment.  Suddenly,  Armitage's  tense  fig- 


318         THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

ure  relaxed;  the  fierce  light  in  his  eyes  gave  way  to  a 
gleam  of  humor  and  he  laughed  long  and  loud. 

"Your  face — your  face,  Claiborne;  it's  funny.  It's 
too  funny  for  any  use.  When  your  teeth  show  it's  some 
thing  ghastly.  For  God's  sake  go  in  there  and  wash 
your  face !" 

He  made  a  light  in  his  own  room  and  plied  Claiborne 
with  towels,  while  he  continued  to  break  forth  occasion 
ally  in  fresh  bursts  of  laughter.  When  they  went  into 
the  hall  both  men  were  grave. 

"Claiborne—" 

Armitage  put  out  his  hand  and  Claiborne  took  it  in  a 
vigorous  clasp. 

"You  don't  know  who  I  am  or  what  I  am;  and  I 
haven't  got  time  to  tell  you  now.  It's  a  long  story ;  and 
I  have  much  to  do,  but  I  swear  to  you,  Claiborne,  that 
my  hands  are  clean;  that  the  game  I  am  playing  is  no 
affair  of  my  own,  but  a  big  thing  that  I  have  pledged 
myself  to  carry  through.  I  want  you  to  ride  down  there 
in  the  valley  and  keep  Marhof  quiet  for  a  few  hours; 
tell  him  I  know  more  of  what's  going  on  in  Vienna  than 
he  does,  and  that  if  he  will  only  sit  in  a  rocking-chair 
and  tell  you  fairy  stories  till  morning,  we  can  all  be 


THE    VERGE    OF    MORNING  319 

happy.  Is  it  a  bargain — or — must  I  still  hang  your 
head  down  the  well  till  I  get  through  ?" 

"Marhof  may  go  to  the  devil !  He's  a  lot  more  mys 
terious  than  even  you,  Armitage.  These  fellows  that 
brought  me  up  here  to  kill  me  in  the  belief  that  I  was 
you  can  not  be  friends  of  Marhof's  cause." 

"They  are  not ;  I  assure  you  they  are  not !  They  are 
blackguards  of  the  blackest  dye." 

"I  believe  you,  Armitage." 

"Thank  you.  Now  your  horse  is  at  the  door — run 
along  like  a  good  fellow." 

Armitage  dived  into  his  room,  caught  up  a  cartridge 
belt  and  reappeared  buckling  it  on. 

"Oscar!"  he  yelled,  "bring  in  that  coffee — with  cups 
for  two." 

He  kicked  off  his  boots  and  drew  on  light  shoes  and 
leggings. 

"Light  marching  orders  for  the  rough  places.  Con 
found  that  buckle." 

He  rose  and  stamped  his  feet  to  settle  the  shoes. 

"Your  horse  is  at  the  door ;  that  rascal  Oscar  will  take 
off  the  blanket  for  you.  There's  a  bottle  of  fair  whisky 
in  the  cupboard,  if  you'd  like  a  nip  before  starting. 
Bless  me !  I  forgot  the  coffee !  There  on  the  table,  Os- 


320         THE   PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

car,  and  never  mind  the  chairs/'  he  added  as  Oscar  came 
in  with  a  tin  pot  and  the  cups  on  a  piece  of  plank. 

"I'm  taking  the  rifle,  Oscar;  and  be  sure  those  re 
volvers  are  loaded  with  the  real  goods." 

There  was  a  great  color  in  Armitage's  face  as  he  strode 
about  preparing  to  leave.  His  eyes  danced  with  excite 
ment,  and  between  the  sentences  that  he  jerked  out  half 
to  himself  he  whistled  a  few  bars  from  a  comic  opera 
that  was  making  a  record  run  on  Broadway.  His  steps 
rang  out  vigorously  from  the  bare  pine  floor. 

"Watch  the  windows,  Oscar;  you  may  forgive  a  gen 
eral  anything  but  a  surprise — isn't  that  so,  Claiborne  ? — 
and  those  fellows  must  be  pretty  mad  by  this  time.  Ex 
cuse  the  coffee  service,  Claiborne.  We  always  pour  the 
sugar  from  the  paper  bag — original  package,  you  under 
stand.  And  see  if  you  can't  find  Captain  Claiborne  a 
hat,  Oscar — " 

With  a  tin-cup  of  steaming  coffee  in  his  hand  he  sat 
on  the  table  dangling  his  legs,  his  hat  on  the  back  of  his 
head,  the  cartridge  belt  strapped  about  his  waist  over  a 
brown  corduroy  hunting-coat.  He  was  in  a  high  mood, 
and  chaffed  Oscar  as  to  the  probability  of  their  break 
fasting  another  morning.  "If  we  die,  Oscar,  it  shall  be 
in  a  good  cause !" 


"  Excuse  the  coffee  service,  Claiborne"     Page 320 


THE    VERGE    OF    MORXIXG  321 

He  threw  aside  his  cup  with  a  clatter,  jumped  down 
md  caught  the  sword  from  the  table,  examined  it  criti 
cally,  then  sheathed  it  with  a  click. 

Claiborne  had  watched  Armitage  with  a  growing  im- 
)atience;  he  resented  the  idea  of  being  thus  ignored; 
hen  he  put  his  hand  roughly  on  Armitage's  shoulder. 

Armitage,  intent  with  his  own  affairs,  had  not  looked 
it  Claiborne  for  several  minutes,  but  he  glanced  at  him 
low  as  though  just  recalling  a  duty. 

"Lord,  man !  I  didn't  mean  to  throw  you  into  the 
oad !  There's  a  clean  bed  in  there  that  you're  welcome 
o — go  in  and  get  some  sleep." 

"I'm  not  going  into  the  valley,"  roared  Claiborne, 
'and  I'm  not  going  to  bed;  I'm  going  with  you,  damn 

u!" 

"But  bless  your  soul,  man,  you  can't  go  with  me ;  you 
ire  as  ignorant  as  a  babe  of  my  affairs,  and  I'm  terribly 
usy  and  have  no  time  to  talk  to  you.  Oscar,  that  coffee 
calded  me.  Claiborne,  if  only  I  had  time,  you  know, 
ut  under  existing  circumstances — ' 

"I  repeat  that  I'm  going  with  you.  I  don't  know  why 
'm  in  this  row,  and  I  don't  know  what  it's  all  about, 
»ut  I  believe  what  you  say  about  it ;  and  I  want  you  to 
inderstand  that  I  can't  be  put  in  a  bag  like  a  prize 


322         THE    POET   OF   MISSING   MEN 

potato  without  taking  a  whack  at  the  man  who  put  me 
there." 

"But  if  you  should  get  hurt,  Claiborne,  it  would  spoil 
my  plans.  I  never  could  face  your  family  again/'  said 
Armitage  earnestly.  "Take  your  horse  and  go/' 

"I'm  going  back  to  the  valley  when  you  do." 

"Humph!  Drink  your  coffee!  Oscar,  bring  out  the 
rest  of  the  artillery  and  give  Captain  Claiborne  his 
choice." 

He  picked  up  his  sword  again.,  flung  the  blade  from 
the  scabbard  with  a  swish,  and  cut  the  air  with  it,  hum 
ming  a  few  bars  of  a  German  drinking-song.  Then  he 
broke  out  with : 

"I  do  not  think  a  braver  gentleman, 
More  active-valiant  or  more  valiant-young, 
More  daring  or  mo~c  bold,  is  now  alive 
To  grace  this  latter  age  with  noble  deeds. 
For  my  part,  I  may  speak  it  to  my  shame, 
I  have  a  truant  been  to  chivalry; — 

"Lord,  Claiborne,  you  don't  know  what's  ahead  of  us! 
It's  the  greatest  thing  that  ever  happened.  I  never  ex 
pected  anything  like  this — not  on  my  cheerfulest  days. 
Dearest  Jules  is  out  looking  for  a  telegraph  office  to  pull 
off  the  Austrian  end  of  the  rumpus.  Well,  little  good  it 
will  do  him  !  And  we'll  catch  him  and  Durand  and  that 


THE   VERGE    OF   MORNING  323 

Servian  devil  and  lock  them  up  here  till  Marhof  decides 
what  to  do  with  him.  We're  off !" 

"All  ready,  sir ;"  said  Oscar  briskly. 

"It's  half -past  two.  They  didn't  get  off  their  message 
at  Lamar,  because  the  office  is  closed  and  the  operator 
gone,  and  they  will  keep  out  of  the  valley  and  away  from 
the  big  inn,  because  they  are  rather  worried  by  this  time 
and  not  anxious  to  get  too  near  Marhof.  They've  prob 
ably  decided  to  go  to  the  next  station  below  Lamar  to 
do  their  telegraphing.  Meanwhile  they  haven't  got  me !" 

"They  had  me  and  didn't  want  me,"  said  Claiborne, 
mounting  his  own  horse. 

"They'll  have  a  good  many  things  they  don't  want  in 
the  next  twenty-four  hours.  If  I  hadn't  enjoyed  this 
business  so  much  myself  we  might  have  had  some  secret 
service  men  posted  all  along  the  coast  to  keep  a  lookout 
for  them.  But  it's  been  a  great  old  lark.  And  now  to 
catch  them !" 

Outside  the  preserve  they  paused  for  an  instant.        v 

"They're  not  going  to  venture  far  from  their  base, 
which  is  that  inn  and  post-office,  where  they  have  been 
rummaging  my  mail.  I  haven't  studied  the  hills  for 
nothing,  and  I  know  short  cuts  about  here  that  are  not 
on  maps.  They  haven't  followed  the  railroad  north,  be 
cause  the  valley  broadens  too  much  and  there  are  too 


many  people.  There's  a  trail  up  here  that  goes  over  the 
ridge  and  down  through  a  wind  gap  to  a  settlement 
about  five  miles  south  of  Lamar.  If  I'm  guessing  right, 
we  can  cut  around  and  get  ahead  of  them  and  drive  them 
back  here  to  my  land." 

"To  the  Port  of  Missing  Men !  It  was  made  for  the 
business/'  said  Claiborne. 

"Oscar,  patrol  the  road  here,  and  keep  an  eye  on  the 
bungalow,  and  if  you  hear  us  forcing  them  down,  charge 
from  this  side.  I'll  fire  twice  when  I  get  near  the  Port 
to  warn  you ;  and  if  you  strike  them  first,  give  the  same 
signal.  Do  be  careful,  Sergeant,  how  you  shoot.  We 
want  prisoners,  you  understand,  not  corpses." 

Armitage  found  a  faint  trail,  and  with  Claiborne 
struck  off  into  the  forest  near  the  main  gate  of  his  own 
grounds.  In  less  than  an  hour  they  rode  out  upon  a  low- 
wooded  ridge  and  drew  up  their  panting,  sweating  horses 
—two  shadowy  videttes  against  the  lustral  dome  of 
stars.  A  keen  wind  whistled  across  the  ridge  and  the 
horses  pawed  the  unstable  ground  restlessly.  The  men 
jumped  down  to  tighten  their  saddle-girths,  and  they 
turn  vd  up  their  coat  collars  before  mounting  again. 

"Come !  We're  on  the  verge  of  morning,"  said  Armi 
tage,  "and  there's  no  time  to  lose." 


THE   ATTACK   IN   THE   EOAD 

Cowards  and  laggards  fall  back;  but  alert  to  the  saddlt, 
Straight,  grim  and  abreast,  vault  our  weather-worn  gallop 
ing  legion, 

With  a  stirrup-cup  each  to  the  one  gracious  woman  that 
loves  him. 

— Louise  Imogen  Guiney. 

"There's  an  abandoned  lumber  camp  down  here,  if 
I'm  not  mistaken,  and  if  we've  made  the  right  turns  we 
ought  to  be  south  of  Lamar  and  near  the  railroad." 

Armitage  passed  his  rein  to  Claiborne  and  plunged 
down  the  steep  road  to  reconnoiter. 

"It's  a  strange  business/7  Claiborne  muttered  nalf- 
aloud. 

The  cool  air  of  the  ridge  sobered  him,  but  he  re 
viewed  the  events  of  the  night  without  regret.  Every 
young  officer  in  the  service  would  envy  him  this  adven 
ture.  At  military  posts  scattered  across  the  continent 
men  whom  he  knew  well  were  either  abroad  on  duty,  or 
slept  the  sleep  of  peace.  He  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  paling 

325 


326,         THE   POET    OF.   MISSING   MEN 

stars.  Before  long  bugle  and  morning  gun  would  an 
nounce  the  new  day  at  points  all  along  the  seaboard. 
His  West  Point  comrades  were  scattered  far,  and  the 
fancy  seized  him  that  the  bugle  brought  them  together 
every  day  of  their  lives  as  it  sounded  the  morning  calls 
that  would  soon  begin  echoing  down  the  coast  from 
Kennebec  Arsenal  and  Fort  Preble  in  Maine,  through 
Myer  and  Monroe,  to  McPherson,  in  Georgia,  and  back 
through  Niagara  and  Wayne  to  Sheridan,  and  on  to 
Einggold  and  Eobinson  and  Crook,  zigzagging  back  and 
forth  over  mountain  and  plain  to  the  Pacific,  and  thence 
ringing  on  to  Alaska,  and  echoing  again  from  Hawaii 
to  lonely  outposts  in  Asian  seas. 

He  was  so  intent  with  the  thought  that  he  hummed 
reveille,  and  was  about  to  rebuke  himself  for  unsoldierly 
behavior  on  duty  when  Armitage  whistled  for  him  to  ad 
vance. 

"It's  all  right ;  they  haven't  passed  yet.  I  met  a  rail 
road  track-walker  down  there  and  he  said  he  had  seen 
no  one  between  here  and  Lamar.  Now  they're  handi 
capped  by  the  big  country  horse  they  had  to  take  for 
that  Servian  devil,  and  we  can  push  them  as  hard  as  we 
like.  We  must  get  them  beyond  Lamar  before  we  crowd 
them ;  and  don't  forget  that  we  want  to  drive  them  into 


THE  ATTACK  IN  THE  EOAD    327 

my  land  for  the  round-up.    I'm  afraid  we're  going  to 
have  a  wet  morning." 

They  rode  abreast  beside  the  railroad  through  the  nar-  ( 
row  gap.   A  long  freight-train  rumbled  and  rattled  by, 
and  a  little  later  they  passed  a  coal  shaft,  where  a  be 
grimed  night  shift  loaded  cars  under  flaring  torches. 

"Their  message  to  Winkelried  is  still  on  this  side  of 
the  Atlantic,"  said  Armitage;  "but  Winkelried  is  in  a 
strong  room  by  this  time,  if  the  existing  powers  at 
Vienna  are  what  they  ought  to  be.  I've  done  my  best 
to  get  him  there.  The  message  would  only  help  the  case 
against  him  if  they  sent  it." 

Claibome  groaned  mockingly. 

"I  suppose  I'll  know  what  it's  all  about  when  I  read 
it  in  the  morning  papers.  I  like  the  game  well  enough, 
but  it  might  be  more  amusing  to  know  what  the  devil 
I'm  fighting  for." 

"You  enlisted  without  reading  the  articles  of  war, 
and  you've  got  to  take  the  consequences.  You've  done 
what  you  set  out  to  do — you've  found  me;  and  you're 
traveling  with  me  over  the  Virginia  mountains  to  report 
my  capture  to  Baron  von  Marhof .  On  the  way  you  are 
going  to  assist  in  another  affair  that  will  be  equally  to 
your  credit ;  and  then  if  all  goes  well  with  us  I'm  going 


328         THE   POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

to  give  myself  the  pleasure  of  allowing  Monsieur  Chau- 
venet  to  tell  you  exactly  who  I  am.  The  incident  appeals 
to  my  sense  of  humor — I  assure  you  I  have  one !  Of 
course,  if  I  were  not  a  person  of  very  great  distinction 
Chauvenet  and  his  friend  Durand  would  not  have 
crossed  the  ocean  and  brought  with  them  a  professional 
assassin,  skilled  in  the  use  of  smothering  and  knifing,  to 
do  away  with  me.  You  are  in  luck  to  be  alive.  We  are 
dangerously  near  the  same  size  and  build — and  in  the 
dark — on  horseback — " 

"That  was  funny.  I  knew  that  if  I  ran  for  it  they'd 
plug  me  for  sure,  and  that  if  I  waited  until  they  saw 
their  mistake  they  would  be  afraid  to  kill  me.  Ugh !  I 
still  taste  the  red  soil  of  the  Old  Dominion/' 

"Come,  Captain !  Let  us  give  the  horses  a  chance  to 
prove  their  blood.  These  roads  will  be  paste  in  a  few 
hours." 

The  dawn  was  breaking  sullenly,  and  out  of  a  gray, 
low-hanging  mist  a  light  rain  fell  in  the  soft,  monot 
onous  fashion  of  mountain  rain.  Much  of  the  time  it 
was  necessary  to  maintain  single  file;  and  Armitage 
rode  ahead.  The  fog  grew  thicker  as  they  advanced ;  but 
they  did  not  lessen  their  pace,  which  had  now  dropped 
to  a  steady  trot. 


329 

Suddenly,  as  they  swept  on  beyond  Lamar,  they  heard 
the  beat  of  hoofs  and  halted. 

"Bully  for  us !  We've  cut  in  ahead  of  them !  Can  you 
count  them,  Claiborne  ?" 

"There  are  three  horses  all  right  enough,  and  they're 
forcing  the  beasts.  What's  the  word  ?" 

"Drive  them  back !  Eeady — here  we  go !"  roared  Ar- 
mitage  in  a  voice  intended  to  be  heard. 

They  yelled  at  the  top  of  their  voices  as  they  charged, 
plunging  into  the  advancing  trio  after  a  forty-yard  gal 
lop. 

"  'Not  later  than  Friday' — back  you  go !"  shouted  Ar- 
mitage,  and  laughed  aloud  at  the  enemy's  rout.  One  of 
the  horses — it  seemed  from  its  rider's  yells  to  be  Chau- 
venet's — turned  and  bolted,  and  the  others  followed 
back  the  way  they  had  come. 

Soon  they  dropped  their  pace  to  a  trot,  but  the  trio 
continued  to  fly  before  them. 

"They're  rattled,"  said  Claiborne,  "and  the  fog  isn't 
helping  them  any." 

"We're  getting  close  to  my  place,"  said  Armitage; 
and  as  he  spoke  two  shots  fired  in  rapid  succession 
cracked  faintly  through  the  fog  and  they  jerked  up 
their  horses. 


330 

"It's  Oscar!  He's  a  good  way  ahead,  if  I  judge  the 
shots  right." 

"If  he  turns  them  back  we  ought  to  hear  their  horses 
in  a  moment,"  observed  Claiborne.  "The  fog  muffles 
sounds.  The  road's  pretty  level  in  here." 

"We  must  get  them  out  of  it  and  into  my  territory 
for  safety.  We're  within  a  mile  of  the  gate  and  we  ought 
to  be  able  to  crowd  them  into  that  long  open  strip  where 
the  fences  are  down.  Damn  the  fog !" 

The  agreed  signal  of  two  shots  reached  them  again, 
but  clearer,  like  drum-taps,  and  was  immediately  an 
swered  by  scattering  shots.  A  moment  later,  as  the  two 
riders  moved  forward  at  a  walk,  a  sharp  volley  rang  out 
quite  clearly  and  they  heard  shouts  and  the  crack  of  re 
volvers  again. 

"By  George !   They're  coming — here  we  go !" 

They  put  their  horses  to  the  gallop  and  rode  swiftly 
through  the  fog.  The  beat  of  hoofs  was  now  perfectly 
audible  ahead  of  them,  and  they  heard,  quite  distinctly, 
a  single  revolver  snap  twice. 

"Oscar  has  them  on  the  run — bully  for  Oscar !  They're 
getting  close — thank  the  Lord  for  this  level  stretch — 
now  howl  and  let  'er  go !" 

They  went  forward  with  a  yell  that  broke  weirdly  and 


THE  ATTACK  IN  THE  EOAD    331 

chokingly  on  the  gray  cloak  of  fog,  their  horses'  hoofs 
pounding  dully  on  the  earthen  road.  The  rain  had  al 
most  ceased,  but  enough  had  fallen  to  soften  the  ground. 

"They're  terribly  brave  or  horribly  scared,  from  their 
speed,"  shouted  Claiborne.  "Now  for  it !" 

They  rose  in  their  stirrups  and  charged,  yelling  lust 
ily,  riding  neck  and  neck  toward  the  unseen  foe,  and 
with  their  horses  at  their  highest  pace  they  broke  upon 
the  mounted  trio  that  now  rode  upon  them  grayly  out 
of  the  mist. 

There  was  a  mad  snorting  and  shrinking  of  horses. 
One  of  the  animals  turned  and  tried  to  bolt,  and  his 
rider,  struggling  to  control  him,  added  to  the  confusion. 
The  fog  shut  them  in  with  each  other;  and  Armitage 
and  Claiborne,  having  flung  back  their  own  horses  at  the 
onset,  had  an  instant's  glimpse  of  Chauvenet  trying  to 
swing  his  horse  into  the  road ;  of  Zmai  half-turning,  as 
his  horse  reared,  to  listen  for  the  foe  behind;  and  of 
Durand's  impassive  white  face  as  he  steadied  his  horse 
with  his  left  hand  and  leveled  a  revolver  at  Armitage 
with  his  right. 

With  a  cry  Claiborne  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and  drove 
him  forward  upon  Durand.  His  hand  knocked  the  lev 
eled  revolver  flying  into  the  fog.  Then  Zmai  fired  twice, 


333         THE    POET    OF.   MISSING   MEN 

and  Chauvenet's  frightened  horse,  panic-stricken  at  the 
shots,  reared,  swung  round  and  dashed  back  the  way  he 
had  come,  and  Durand  and  Zmai  followed. 

The  three  disappeared  into  the  mist,  and  Armitage 
and  Claiborne  shook  themselves  together  and  quieted 
their  horses. 

"That  was  too  close  for  fun — are  you  all  there?" 
asked  Armitage. 

"Still  in  it;  but  Chauvenet's  friend  won't  miss  every 
time.  There's  murder  in  his  eye.  The  big  fellow  seemed 
to  be  trying  to  shoot  his  own  horse." 

"Oh,  he's  a  knife  and  sack  man  and  clumsy  with  the 
gun." 

They  moved  slowly  forward  now  and  Armitage  sent 
his  horse  across  the  rough  ditch  at  the  roadside  to  get 
his  bearings.  The  fog  seemed  at  the  point  of  breaking, 
and  the  mass  about  them  shifted  and  drifted  in  the 
growing  light. 

"This  is  my  land,  sure  enough.  Lord,  man,  I  wish 
/ou'd  get  out  of  this  and  go  home.  You  see  they're  an 
ugly  lot  and  don't  use  toy  pistols." 

"Eemember  the  potato  sack !  That's  my  watchword," 
laughed  Claiborne. 

They  rode  with  their  eyes  straight  ahead,  peering 


THE   ATTACK   IK"   THE    EOAD          333 

through,  the  breaking,  floating  mist.  It  was  now  so  clear 
and  light  that  they  could  see  the  wood  at  either  hand, 
though  fifty  yards  ahead  in  every  direction  the  fog  still 
lay  like  a  barricade. 

"I  should  value  a  change  of  raiment,"  observed  Armi- 
tage.  "There  was  an  advantage  in  armor — your  duds 
might  get  rusty  on  a  damp  excursion,  but  your  shirt 
wouldn't  stick  to  your  hide." 

"Who  cares?  Those  devils  are  pretty  quiet,  and  the 
little  sergeant  is  about  due  to  bump  into  them  again." 

They  had  come  to  a  gradual  turn  in  the  road  at  a 
point  where  a  steep,  wooded  incline  swept  up  on  the  left. 
On  the  right  lay  the  old  hunting  preserve  and  Armi- 
tage's  bungalow.  As  they  drew  into  the  curve  they  heard 
a  revolver  crack  twice,  as  before,  followed  by  answering 
shots  and  cries  and  the  thump  of  hoofs. 

"Ohee !  Oscar  has  struck  them  again.  Steady  now ! 
Watch  your  horse !"  And  Armitage  raised  his  arm  high 
above  his  head  and  fired  twice  as  a  warning  to  Oscar. 

The  distance  between  the  contending  parties  was 
shorter  now  than  at  the  first  meeting,  and  Armitage  and 
Claiborne  bent  forward  in  their  saddles,  talking  softly 
to  their  horses,  that  had  danced  wildly  at  Armitage's 
shots. 


3S4         THE   POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

"Lord !  if  we  can  crowd  them  in  here  now  and  back 
to  the  Port !" 

"There !" 

Exclamations  died  on  their  lips  at  the  instant.  Ahead 
of  them  lay  the  fog,  rising  and  breaking  in  soft  folds,, 
and  behind  it  men  yelled  and  several  shots  snapped 
spitefully  on  the  heavy  air.  Then  a  curious  picture  dis 
closed  itself  just  at  the  edge  of  the  vapor,  as  though  it 
were  a  curtain  through  which  actors  in  a  drama  emerged 
upon  a  stage.  Zmai  and  Chauvenet  flashed  into  view 
suddenly,  and  close  behind  them,  Oscar,  yelling  like 
mad.  He  drove  his  horse  between  the  two  men,  threw 
himself  flat  as  Zmai  fired  at  him,  and  turned  and  waved 
his  hat  and  laughed  at  them ;  then,  just  before  his  horse 
reached  Claiborne  and  Armitage,  he  checked  its  speed 
abruptly,  flung  it  about  and  then  charged  back,  still 
yelling,  upon  the  amazed  foe. 

"He's  crazy — he's  gone  clean  out  of  his  head !"  mut 
tered  Claiborne,  restraining  his  horse  with  difficulty. 
"What  do  you  make  of  it?" 

"He's  having  fun  with  them.  He's  just  rattling  them 
to  warm  himself  up — the  little  beggar.  I  didn't  know 
it  was  in  him." 

Back  went  Oscar  toward  the  two  horsemen  he  had 


THE  ATTACK  IN  THE  EOAD    335 

passed  less  than  a  minute  before,  still  yelling,  and  this 
time  he  discharged  his  revolver  with  seeming  unconcern 
for  the  value  of  ammunition,  and  as  he  again  dashed  be 
tween  them,  and  back  through  the  gray  curtain,  Armi- 
tage  gave  the  word,  and  he  and  Claiborne  swept  on  at  a 
gallop. 

Durand  was  out  of  sight,  and  Chauvenet  turned  and 
looked  behind  him  uneasily;  then  he  spoke  sharply  to 
Zmai.  Oscar's  wild  ride  back  and  forth  had  demoralized 
the  horses,  which  were  snorting  and  plunging  wildly. 
As  Armitage  and  Claiborne  advanced  Chauvenet  spoke 
again  to  Zmai  and  drew  his  own  revolver. 

"Oh,  for  a  saber  now !"  growled  Claiborne. 

But  it  was  not  a  moment  for  speculation  or  regret. 
Both  sides  were  perfectly  silent  as  Claiborne,  leading 
slightly,  with  Armitage  pressing  close  at  his  left,  gal 
loped  toward  the  two  men  who  faced  them  at  the  gray 
wall  of  mist.  They  bore  to  the  left  with  a  view  of 
crowding  the  two  horsemen  off  the  road  and  into  the  pre 
serve,  and  as  they  neared  them  they  heard  cries  through 
the  mist  and  rapid  hoof-beats,  and  Durand's  horse 
leaped  the  ditch  at  the  roadside  just  before  it  reached 
Chauvenet  and  Zmai  and  ran  away  through  the  rough 


336         THE   PORT    OF.   MISSING   MEN 

underbrush  into  the  wood,  Oscar  close  behind  and  silent 
now,  grimly  intent  on  his  business. 

The  revolvers  of  Zmai  and  Chauvenet  cracked  to 
gether,  and  they,  too,  turned  their  horses  into  the  wood, 
and  away  they  all  went,  leaving  the  road  clear. 

"My  horse  got  it  that  time  I"  shouted  Claiborne. 

"So  did  I,"  replied  Armitage;  "but  never  you  mind, 
old  man,  we've  got  them  cornered  now.* 

Claiborne  glanced  at  Armitage  and  saw  his  right 
hand,  still  holding  his  revolver,  go  to  his  shoulder. 

"Much  damage  ?" 

"It  struck  a  hard  place,  but  I  am  still  fit." 

The  blood  streamed  from  the  neck  of  Claiborne's 
horse,  which  threw  up  its  head  and  snorted  in  pain,  but 
kept  bravely  on  at  the  trot  in  which  Armitage  had  set 
the  pace. 

"Poor  devil!  We'll  have  a  reckoning  pretty  soon," 
cried  Armitage  cheerily.  "No  kingdom  is  worth  a  good 
horse  I" 

They  advanced  at  a  trot  toward  the  Port. 

"You'll  be  afoot  any  minute  now,  but  we're  in  good 
shape  and  on  our  own  soil,  with  those  carrion  between 
us  and  a  gap  they  won't  care  to  drop  into !  I'm  off  for 


THE   ATTACK   IN   THE   EOAD          337 

the  gate — you  wait  here,  and  if  Oscar  fires  the  signal, 
give  the  answer." 

Armitage  galloped  off  to  the  right  and  Claiborne 
jumped  from  his  horse  just  as  the  wounded  animal 
trembled  for  a  moment,  sank  to  its  knees  and  rolled 
over  dead. 


CHAPTEE  XXV 

THE  PORT   OF  MISSING  MEN" 

Fast  they  come,  fast  they  come; 

See  how  they  gather! 
Wide  waves  the  eagle  plume, 

Blended  with  heather. 
Cast  your  plaids,  draw  your  blades, 

Forward  each  man  set! 
Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhu 

Knell  for  the  onset! 

— Sir  Walter  Scott. 

Claiborne  climbed  upon  a  rock  to  get  his  bearings, 
and  as  he  gazed  off  through  the  wood  a  bullet  sang 
close  to  his  head  and  he  saw  a  man  slipping  away 
through  the  underbrush  a  hundred  yards  ahead  of  him. 
He  threw  up  his  rifle  and  fired  after  the  retreating 
'^figure,  jerked  the  lever  spitefully  and  waited.  In  a  few 
minutes  Oscar  rode  alertly  out  of  the  wood  at  his  left. 

"It  was  better  for  us  a  dead  horse  than  a  dead  man — 
yes?"  was  the  little  sergeant's  comment.  "We  shall 
come  back  for  the  saddle  and  bridle." 

"Humph !  Where  do  you  think  those  men  are  ?" 
338 


THE   POET   OF   MISSING   MEN         339 

"Behind  some  rocks  near  the  edge  of  the  gap.  It  is  a 
poor  position." 

"I'm  not  sure  of  that.  They'll  escape  across  the 
old  bridge." 

"Nein.  A  sparrow  would  shake  it  down.  Three  men, 
at  once — they  would  not  need  our  bullets !" 

Far  away  to  the  right  two  reports  in  quick  succession 
gave  news  of  Armitage. 

"It's  the  signal  that  he's  got  between  them  and  the, 
gate.  Swing  around  to  the  left  and  I  will  go  straight 
to  the  big  clearing,  and  meet  you." 

"You  will  have  my  horse — yes  ?"  Oscar  began  to  dis 
mount. 

"No;  I  do  well  enough  this  way.  Forward! — the 
word  is  to  keep  them  between  us  and  the  gap  until  we 
can  sit  on  them." 

The  mist  was  fast  disappearing  and  swirling  away 
under  a  sharp  wind,  and  the  sunlight  broke  warmly 
upon  the  drenched  world.  Claiborne  started  through  the 
wet  undergrowth  at  a  dog  trot.  Armitage,  he  judged, 
was  about  half  a  mile  away,  and  to  make  their  line  com 
plete  Oscar  should  traverse  an  equal  distance.  The  sol 
dier  blood  in  Claiborne  warmed  at  the  prospect  of  a 
definite  contest.  He  grinned  as  it  occurred  to  him 


340         THE    PORT   OF.   MISSING   MEN. 

that  he  had  won  the  distinction  of  having  a  horse  shot 
under  him  in  an  open  road  fight,  almost  within  sight 
of  the  dome  of  the  Capitol. 

The  brush  grew  thinner  and  the  trees  fewer,  and  he 
dropped  down  and  crawled  presently  to  the  shelter  of  a 
boulder,  from  which  he  could  look  out  upon  the  open 
and  fairly  level  field  known  as  the  Port  of  Missing 
Men.  There  as  a  boy  he  had  dreamed  of  battles  as  he 
pondered  the  legend  of  the  Lost  Legion.  At  the  far  edge 
of  the  field  was  a  fringe  of  stunted  cedars,  like  an 
abatis,  partly  concealing  the  old  barricade  where,  in 
the  golden  days  of  their  youth,  he  had  played  with 
Shirley  at  storming  the  fort;  and  Shirley,  in  these 
fierce  assaults,  had  usually  tumbled  over  upon  the  im 
aginary  enemy  ahead  of  him  ! 

As  he  looked  about  he  saw  Armitage,  his  horse  at  a 
walk,  ride  slowly  out  of  the  wood  at  his  right.  Claiborne 
jumped  up  and  waved  his  hat  and  a  rifle-ball  flicked 
his  coat  collar  as  lightly  as  though  an  unseen  hand  had 
tried  to  brush  a  bit  of  dust  from  it.  As  he  turned  toward 
the  marksman  behind  the  cedars  three  shots,  fired  in  a 
volley,  hummed  about  him.  Then  it  was  very  still,  with 
the  Sabbath  stillness  of  early  morning  in  the  hills,  and 
he  heard  faintly  the  mechanical  click  and  snap  of  the 


THE   POET    OF   MISSING   MEN         341 

rifles  of  Chauvenet's  party  as  they  expelled  their  ex 
ploded  cartridges  and  refilled  their  magazines. 

"They're  really  not  so  bad — bad  luck  to  them!"  he 
muttered.  "I'll  be  ripe  for  the  little  brown  men  after 
I  get  through  with  this;"  and  Claiborne  laughed  a 
little  and  watched  Armitage's  slow  advance  out  into 
the  open. 

The  trio  behind  the  barricade  had  not  yet  seen  the 
man  they  had  crossed  the  sea  to  kill,  as  the  line  of  his 
approach  closely  paralleled  the  long  irregular  wall  with 
its  fringe  of  cedars;  but  they  knew  from  Claiborne's 
signal  that  he  was  there.  The  men  had  picketed  their 
horses  back  of  the  little  fort,  and  Claiborne  commended 
their  good  generalship  and  wondered  what  sort  of  be 
ings  they  were  to  risk  so  much  upon  so  wild  an  ad 
venture. 

Armitage  rode  out  farther  into  the  opening,  and 
Claiborne,  with  his  eyes  on  the  barricade,  saw  a  man 
lean  forward  through  the  cedars  in  an  effort  to  take 
aim  at  the  horseman.  Claiborne  drew  up  his  own  rifle 
and  blazed  away.  Bits  of  stone  spurted  into  the  air  be 
low  the  target's  elbow,  and  the  man  dropped  back  out 
of  sight  without  firing. 

"I've  never  been  the  same  since  that  fever,"  growled 


342         THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

Claiborne,  and  snapped  out  the  shell  spitefully,  and 
watched  for  another  chance. 

Being  directly  in  front  of  the  barricade,  he  was  in  a 
position  to  cover  Armitage's  advance,  and  Oscar,  mean 
while,  had  taken  his  cue  from  Armitage  and  ridden 
slowly  into  the  field  from  the  left.  The  men  behind  the 
cedars  fired  now  from  within  the  enclosure  at  both  men 
without  exposing  themselves ;  but  their  shots  flew  wild, 
and  the  two  horsemen  rode  up  to  Claiborne,  who  had 
emptied  his  rifle  into  the  cedars  and  was  reloading. 

"They  are  all  together  again,  are  they  ?"  asked  Armi 
tage,  pausing  a  few  yards  from  Claiborne's  rock,  his 
eyes  upon  the  barricade. 

"The  gentleman  with  the  curly  hair — I  drove  him 
in.  He  is  a  damned  poor  shot — yes  ?" 

Oscar  tightened  his  belt  and  waited  for  orders,  while 
Armitage  and  Claiborne  conferred  in  quick  pointed 
sentences. 

"Shall  we  risk  a  rush  or  starve  them  out?  I'd  like 
to  try  hunger  on  them,"  said  Armitage. 

"They'll  all  sneak  off  over  the  bridge  to-night  if  we 
pen  them  up.  If  they  all  go  at  once  they'll  break  it 
down,  and  we'll  lose  our  quarry.  But  you  want  to  cap 
ture  them — alive?" 


THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN         343 

"I  certainly  do  I"  Armitage  replied,  and  turned  to 
laugh  at  Oscar,  who  had  fired  at  the  barricade  from  the 
back  of  his  horse,  which  was  resenting  the  indignity 
by  trying  to  throw  his  rider. 

The  enemy  now  concentrated  a  sharp  fire  upon  Armi 
tage,  whose  horse  snorted  and  pawed  the  ground  as  the 
balls  cut  the  air  and  earth. 

"For  God's  sake,  get  off  that  horse,  Armitage!" 
bawled  Claiborne,  rising  upon  the  rock.  "There's  no 
use  in  wasting  yourseF  that  way." 

"My  arm  aches  and  I've  got  to  do  something.  Let's 
try  storming  them  just  for  fun.  It's  a  cavalry  stunt, 
Claiborne,  and  you  can  play  being  the  artillery  that's 
supporting  our  advance.  Fall  away  there,  Oscar,  about 
forty  yards,  and  we'll  race  for  it  to  the  wall  and  over. 
That  barricade  isn't  as  stiff  as  it  looks  from  this  side — 
I  know  all  about  it.  There  are  great  chunks  out  of  it 
that  can't  be  seen  from  this  side." 

"Thank  me  for  that,  Armitage.  I  tumbled  down  a 
good  many  yards  of  it  when  I  played  up  here  as  a  kid. 
Get  off  that  horse,  I  tell  you !  You've  got  a  hole  in  you 
now !  Get  down !" 

"You  make  me  tired,  Claiborne.  This  beautiful  row 
will  all  be  over  in  a  few  minutes.  I  never  intended  to 


344         THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

waste  much  time  on  those  fellows  when  I  got  them  where 
I  wanted  them/' 

His  left  arm  hung  quite  limp  at  his  side  and  his  face 
was  very  white.  He  had  dropped  his  rifle  in  the  road 
at  the  moment  the  ball  struck  his  shoulder,  hut  he  still 
Carried  his  revolver.  He  nodded  to  Oscar,  and  they 
both  galloped  forward  over  the  open  ground,  making 
straight  for  the  cedar  covert. 

Claiborne  was  instantly  up  and  away  between  the  two 
riders.  Their  bold  advance  evidently  surprised  the  trio 
beyond  the  barricade,  who  shouted  hurried  commands 
to  one  another  as  they  distributed  themselves  along  the 
wall  and  awaited  the  onslaught.  Then  they  grew  still 
and  lay  low  out  of  sight  as  the  silent  riders  approached. 
The  hoofs  of  the  onrushing  horses  rang  now  and  then 
on  the  harsh  outcropping  rock,  and  here  and  there  struck 
fire.  Armitage  sat  erect  and  steady  in  his  saddle,  his 
horse  speeding  on  in  great  bounds  toward  the  barricade. 
His  lips  moved  in  a  curious  stiff  fashion,  as  though  he 
were  ill,  muttering: 

"For  Austria!  For  Austria!  He  bade  me  do  some 
thing  for  the  Empire !" 

Beyond  the  cedars  the  trio  held  their  fire,  watching 


THE   POET   OF   MISSING   MEN         345 

with  fascinated  eyes  the  two  riders,  every  instant  draw 
ing  closer,  and  the  runner  who  followed  them. 

"They  can't  jump  this — they'll  veer  off  before  they 
get  here,"  shouted  Chauvenet  to  his  comrades.  "Wait 
till  they  check  their  horses  for  the  turn." 

"We  are  fools.  They  have  got  us  trapped;"  and  Du- 
rand's  hands  shook  as  he  restlessly  fingered  a  revolver. 
The  big  Servian  crouched  on  his  knees  near  by,  his 
finger  on  the  trigger  of  his  rifle.  All  three  were  hatless 
and  unkempt.  The  wound  in  Zmai's  scalp  had  broken 
out  afresh,  and  he  had  twisted  a  colored  handkerchief 
about  it  to  stay  the  bleeding.  A  hundred  yards  away 
the  waterfall  splashed  down  the  defile  and  its  faint 
murmur  reached  them.  A  wild  dove  rose  ahead  of 
Armitage  and  flew  straight  before  him  over  the  barri 
cade.  The  silence  grew  tense  as  the  horses  galloped 
nearer ;  the  men  behind  the  cedar-lined  wall  heard  only 
the  hollow  thump  of  hoofs  and  Claiborne's  voice  calling 
to  Armitage  and  Oscar,  to  warn  them  of  his  whereabouts. 

But  the  eyes  of  the  three  conspirators  were  fixed  on 
Armitage ;  it  was  his  life  they  sought ;  the  others  did  not 
greatly  matter.  And  so  John  Armitage  rode  across  the 
little  plain  where  the  Lost  Legion  had  camped  for  a 
year  at  the  end  of  a  great  war;  and  as  he  rode  on  the 


346         THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

defenders  of  the  boulder  barricade  saw  his  white  face 
and  noted  the  useless  arm  hanging  and  swaying,  and 
felt,  in  spite  of  themselves,  the  strength  of  his  tall  erect 
figure. 

Chauvenet,  watching  the  silent  rider,  said  aloud, 
speaking  in  German,  so  that  Zmai  understood: 

"It  is  in  the  blood ;  he  is  like  a  king/' 

But  they  could  not  hear  the  words  that  John  Armi- 
tage  kept  saying  over  and  over  again  as  he  crossed  the 
field: 

"He  bade  me  do  something  for  Austria — for  Aus 
tria  !" 

"He  is  brave,  but  he  is  a  great  fool.  When  he  turns 
his  horse  we  will  fire  on  him,"  said  Zmai. 

Their  eyes  were  upon  Armitage;  and  in  their  intent- 
ness  they  failed  to  note  the  increasing  pace  of  Oscar's 
horse,  which  was  spurting  slowly  ahead.  When  they 
saw  that  he  would  first  make  the  sweep  which  they  as 
sumed  to  be  the  contemplated  strategy  of  the  charging 
party,  they  leveled  their  arms  at  him,  believing  that  he 
must  soon  check  his  horse.  But  on  he  rode,  bending  for 
ward  a  little,  his  rifle  held  across  the  saddle  in  front  of 
him. 


THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN         347 

"Take  him  first,"  cried  Chauvenet.  "Then  be  ready 
for  Armitage !" 

Oscar  was  now  turning  his  horse,  but  toward  them 
and  across  Armitage's  path,  with  the  deliberate  pur 
pose  of  taking  the  first  fire.  Before  him  rose  the  cedars 
that  concealed  the  line  of  wall;  and  he  saw  the  blue 
barrels  of  the  waiting  rifles.  With  a  great  spurt  of 
speed  he  cut  in  ahead  of  Armitage  swiftly  and  neatly; 
then  on,  without  a  break  or  a  pause — not  heeding  Armi 
tage's  cries — on  and  still  on,  till  twenty,  then  ten  feet 
lay  between  him  and  the  wall,  at  a  place  where  the  cedar 
barrier  was  thinnest.  Then,  as  his  horse  crouched  and 
rose,  three  rifles  cracked  as  one.  With  a  great  crash 
the  horse  struck  the  wall  and  tumbled,  rearing  and 
plunging,  through  the  tough  cedar  boughs.  An  instant 
later,  near  the  same  spot,  Armitage,  with  better  luck 
clearing  the  wall,  was  borne  on  through  the  confused 
line.  When  he  flung  himself  down  and  ran  back  Clai- 
borne  had  not  yet  appeared. 

Oscar  had  crashed  through  at  a  point  held  by  Durand, 
who  was  struck  down  by  the  horse's  forefeet.  He  lay 
howling  with  pain,  with  the  hind  quarters  of  the  pros 
trate  beast  across  his  legs.  Armitage,  running  back 
toward  the  wall,  kicked  the  revolver  from  his  hand  and 


348         THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

left  him.  Zmai  had  started  to  run  as  Oscar  gained  the 
wall  and  Chauvenet's  curses  did  not  halt  the  Servian 
when  he  found  Oscar  at  his  heels. 

Chauvenet  stood  impassively  by  the  wall,  his  revolver 
raised  and  covering  Armitage,  who  walked  slowly  and 
doggedly  toward  him.  The  pallor  in  Armitage's  face 
gave  him  an  unearthly  look;  he  appeared  to  be  trying 
to  force  himself  to  a  pace  of  which  his  wavering  limbs 
were  incapable.  At  the  moment  that  Claiborne  sprang 
upon  the  wall  behind  Chauvenet  Armitage  swerved  and 
stumbled,  then  swayed  from  side  to  side  like  a  drunken 
man.  His  left  arm  swung  limp  at  his  side,  and  his  re 
volver  remained  undrawn  in  his  belt.  His  gray  felt  hat 
was  twitched  to  one  side  of  his  head,  adding  a  grotesque 
touch  to  the  impression  of  drunkenness,  and  he  was 
talking  aloud  : 

"Shoot  me,  Mr.  Chauvenet.  Go  on  and  shoot  me !  I 
am  John  Armitage,  and  I  live  in  Montana,  where  real 
people  are.  Go  on  and  shoot!  Winkelried's  in  jail  and 

,  the  jig's  up  and  the  Empire  and  the  silly  King  are  safe. 

'j 

a  Go  on  and  shoot,  I  tell  you !" 

He  had  stumbled  on  until  he  was  within  a  dozen 
steps  of  Chauvenet,  who  lifted  his  revolver  until  it 
covered  Armitage's  head. 


THE   POET    OF   MISSING   MEN         349 

"Drop  that  gun — drop  it  damned  quick!"  and  Dick 
Claiborne  swung  the  butt  of  his  rifle  high  and  brought 
it  down  with  a  crash  on  Chauvenet's  head;  then  Armi- 
tage  paused  and  glanced  about  and  laughed. 

It  was  Claiborne  who  freed  Durand  from  the  dead 
horse,  which  had  received  the  shots  fired  at  Oscar  the 
moment  he  rose  at  the  wall.  The  fight  was  quite 
knocked  out  of  the  conspirator,  and  he  swore  under  his 
breatL,  cursing  the  unconscious  Chauvenet  and  the  miss 
ing  Zmai  and  the  ill  fortune  of  the  fight. 

"It's  all  over  but  the  shouting — what's  next?"  de 
manded  Claiborne. 

"Tie  him  up — and  tie  the  other  one  up,"  said  Armi- 
tage,  staring  about  queerly.  "Where  the  devil  is  Os 
car?" 

"He's  after  the  big  fellow.  You're  badly  fussed,  old 
man.  We've  got  to  get  out  of  this  and  fix  you  up." 

"I'm  all  right.  I've  got  a  hole  in  my  shoulder  that 
feels  as  big  and  hot  as  a  blast  furnace.  But  we've  got 
them  nailed,  and  it's  all  right,  old  man !" 

Durand  continued  to  curse  things  visible  and  invisible 
as  he  rubbed  his  leg,  while  Claiborne  watched  him  im 
patiently. 


350         THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

"If  you  start  to  run  I'll  certainly  kill  you,  Mon 
sieur." 

"We  have  met,  my  dear  sir,  under  unfortunate  cir 
cumstances.  You  should  not  take  it  too  much  to  heart 
about  the  potato  sack.  It  was  the  fault  of  my  dear  col 
leagues.  Ah,  Armitage,  you  look  rather  ill,  but  I  trust 
you  will  harbor  no  harsh  feelings." 

Armitage  did  not  look  at  him;  his  eyes  were  upon 
the  prostrate  figure  of  Chauvenet,  who  seemed  to  be  re 
gaining  his  wits.  He  moaned  and  opened  his  eyes. 

"Search  him,  Claiborne,  to  make  sure.  Then  get  him 
on  his  legs  and  pinion  his  arms,  and  tie  the  gentlemen 
together.  The  bridle  on  that  dead  horse  is  quite  the 
thing." 

"But,  Messieurs,"  began  Durand,  who  was  striving  to 
recover  his  composure — "this  is  unnecessary.  My  friend 
and  I  are  quite  willing  to  give  you  every  assurance  of  our 
peaceable  intentions." 

"I  don't  question  it,"  laughed  Claiborne. 

"But,  my  dear  sir,  in  America,  even  in  delightful 
America,  the  law  will  protect  the  citizens  of  another 
country." 

"It  will,  indeed,"  and  Claiborne  grinned,  put  his  re 
volver  into  Armitage's  hand,  and  proceeded  to  cut  the 


THE   POET    OF   MISSING   MEN         351 

reins  from  the  dead  horse.  "In  America  such  amiable 
scoundrels  as  you  are  given  the  freedom  of  cities,  and 
little  children  scatter  flowers  in  their  path.  You  ought 
to  write  for  the  funny  papers,  Monsieur." 

"I  trust  your  wounds  are  not  serious,  my  dear  Armi- 
tage— " 

Armitage,  sitting  on  a  boulder,  turned  his  eyes  wearily 
upon  Durand,  whose  wrists  Claiborne  was  knotting  to 
gether  with  a  strap.  The  officer  spun  the  man  around 
viciously. 

"You  beast,  if  you  address  Mr.  Armitage  again  I'll 
choke  you !" 

Chauvenet,  sitting  up  and  staring  dully  about,  was 
greeted  ironically  by  Durand : 

"Prisoners,  my  dearest  Jules;  prisoners,  do  you  un 
derstand?  Will  you  please  arrange  with  dear  Armi 
tage  to  let  us  go  home  and  be  good  ?" 

Claiborne  emptied  the  contents  of  Durand's  pockets 
upon  the  ground  and  tossed  a  flask  to  Armitage. 

"We  will  discuss  matters  at  the  bungalow.  They  al 
ways  go  to  the  nearest  farm-house  to  sign  the  treaty  of 
peace.  Let  us  do  everything  according  to  the  best  tra 
ditions." 


352         THE   POET    OF   MISSING   MEN. 

A  moment  later  Oscar  ran  in  from  the  direction  of  the 
gap,  to  find  the  work  done  and  the  party  ready  to  leave. 

"Where  is  the  Servian  ?"  demanded  Armitage. 

The  soldier  saluted,  glanced  from  Chauvenet  to  Du- 
rand,  and  from  Claiborne  to  Armitage. 

"He  will  not  come  back,"  said  the  sergeant  quietly. 

"That  is  bad,"  remarked  Armitage.  "Take  my  horse 
and  ride  down  to  Storm  Springs  and  tell  Baron  von 
Marhof  and  Judge  Claiborne  that  Captain  Claiborne 
has  found  John  Armitage,  and  that  he  presents  his 
compliments  and  wishes  them  to  come  to  Mr.  Armi- 
tage's  house  at  once.  Tell  them  that  Captain  Claiborne 
sent  you  and  that  he  wants  them  to  come  back  with  you 
immediately." 

"But  Armitage — not  Marhof — for  God's  sake,  not 
Marhof."  Chauvenet  staggered  to  his  feet  and  his  voice 
choked  as  he  muttered  his  appeal.  "Not  Marhof !" 

"We  can  fix  this  among  ourselves — just  wait  a  little, 
till  we  can  talk  over  our  affairs.  You  have  quite  the 
wrong  impression  of  us,  I  assure  you,  Messieurs,"  pro 
tested  Durand. 

"That  is  your  misfortune!  Thanks  for  the  brandy, 
Monsieur  Durand.  I  feel  quite  restored,"  said  Armi- 


THE   PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN         353 

tage,  rising;  and  the  color  swept  into  his  face  and  he 
spoke  with  quick  decision. 

"Oh,  Claiborne,  will  you  kindly  give  me  the  time?" 

Claiborne  laughed.  It  was  a  laugh  of  real  relief  at 
the  change  in  Armitage's  tone. 

"It's  a  quarter  of  seven.  This  little  scrap  didn't  take 
as  much  time  as  you  thought  it  would." 

Oscar  had  mounted  Armitage's  horse  and  Claiborne 
stopped  him  as  he  rode  past  on  his  way  to  the  road. 

"After  you  deliver  Mr.  Armitage's  message,  get  a 
doctor  and  tell  him  to  be  in  a  hurry  about  getting  here." 

"No !"  began  Armitage.  "Good  Lord,  no !  "We  are 
not  going  to  advertise  this  mess.  You  will  spoil  it  all. 
I  don't  propose  to  be  arrested  and  put  in  jail,  and  a 
doctor  would  blab  it  all.  I  tell  you,  no !" 

"Oscar,  go  to  the  hotel  at  the  Springs  and  ask  for 
Doctor  Bledsoe.  He's  an  army  surgeon  on  leave.  Tell 
him  I  want  him  to  bring  his  tools  and  come  to  me  at  the 
bungalow.  Now  go !" 

The  conspirators'  horses  were  brought  up  and  Clai 
borne  put  Armitage  upon  the  best  of  them. 

"Don't  treat  me  as  though  I  were  a  sick  priest!  I 
tell  you,  I  feel  bully !  If  the  prisoners  will  kindly  walk 


354         THE    POET    OF   MISSIXG   MEN 

ahead  of  us,  we'll  graciously  ride  behind.  Or  we  might 
put  them  both  on  one  horse !  Forward !" 

Chauvenet  and  Durand,  as  they  marched  ahead  of 
their  captors,  divided  the  time  between  execrating  each 
other  and  trying  to  make  terms  with  Armitage.  The 
thought  of  being  haled  before  Baron  von  Marhof  gave 
them  great  concern. 

"Wait  a  few  hours,  Armitage — let  us  sit  down  and 
talk  it  all  over.  We're  not  as  black  as  your  imagination 
paints  us !" 

"Save  your  breath !  You've  had  your  fun  so  far,  and 
now  I'm  going  to  have  mine.  You  fellows  are  all  right 
to  sit  in  dark  rooms  and  plot  murder  and  treason;  but 
you're  not  made  for  work  in  the  open.  Forward  !" 

They  were  a  worn  company  that  drew  up  at  the  empty 
bungalow,  where  the  lamp  and  candles  flickered  eerily. 
On  the  table  still  lay  the  sword,  the  cloak,  the  silver 
box,  the  insignia  of  noble  orders. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

ARE  YOU,   JOHN   AEMITAGE  ?" 

"Morbleu,  Monsieur,  you  give  me  too  much  majesty,"  said 
the  Prince. — The  History  of  Henry  Esmond. 

"These  gentlemen  doubtless  wish  to  confer — let  them 
sequester  themselves!"  and  Armitage  waved  his  hand 
to  the  line  of  empty  sleeping-rooms.  "I  believe  Mon 
sieur  Durand  already  knows  the  way  about — he  may 
wish  to  explore  my  trunks  again,"  and  Armitage  bowed 
to  the  two  men,  who,  with  their  wrists  tied  behind 
them  and  a  strap  linking  them  together,  looked  the  least 
bit  absurd. 

"Now,  Claibbrne,  that  foolish  Oscar  has  a  first-aid  kit 
of  some  sort  that  he  used  on  me  a  couple  of  weeks  ago. 
Dig  it  out  of  his  simple  cell  back  there  and  we'll  clear 
up  this  mess  in  my  shoulder.  Twice  on  the  same  side, — 
but  I  believe  they  actually  cracked  a  bone  this  time." 

He  lay  down  on  a  long  bench  and  Claiborne  cut  off  his 
eoat 

355 


356         THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

"I'd  like  to  hold  a  little  private  execution  for  this," 
growled  the  officer.  "A  little  lower  and  it  would  have 
caught  you  in  the  heart." 

"Don't  be  spiteful !  I'm  as  sound  as  wheat.  We  have 
them  down  and  the  victory  is  ours.  The  great  fun  is  to 
come  when  the  good  Baron  von  Marhof  gets  here.  If  I 
were  dying  I  believe  I  could  hold  on  for  that." 

"You're  not  going  to  die,  thank  God !  Just  a  minute 
more  until  I  pack  this  shoulder  with  cotton.  I  can't  do 
anything  for  that  smashed  bone,  but  Bledsoe  is  the  best 
surgeon  in  the  army,  and  he'll  fix  you  up  in  a  jiffy." 

"That  will  do  now.  I  must  have  on  a  coat  when  our 
honored  guests  arrive,  even  if  we  omit  one  sleeve — yes, 
I  guess  we'll  have  to,  though  it  does  seem  a  bit  affected. 
Dig  out  the  brandy  bottle  from  the  cupboard  there  in 
the  corner,  and  then  kindly  brush  my  hair  and 
straighten  up  the  chairs  a  bit.  You  might  even  toss  a 
stick  on  the  fire.  That  potato  sack  you  may  care  to  keep 
as  a  souvenir." 

"Be  quiet,  now!  Remember,  you  are  my  prisoner, 
Mr.  Armitage." 

"I  am,  I  am !  But  I  will  wager  ten  courses  at  Sherry's 
the  Baron  will  be  glad  to  let  me  off." 

He  laughed  softly  and  began  repeating: 


"WHO   ABE   YOU,   JOHN   ARMITAGE?"  357 

"  'Why,  hear  you,  my  masters :  was  it  for  me  to  kill 
the  heir  apparent  ?  Should  I  turn  upon  the  true  prince  ? 
Why,  thou  knowest  I  am  as  valiant  as  Hercules;  but 
beware  instinct ;  the  lion  will  not  touch  the  true  prince. 
Instinct  is  a  great  matter;  I  was  a  coward  on  instinct. 
I  shall  think  the  better  of  myself  and  thee  during 
my  life;  I  for  a  valiant  lion,  and  thou  for  a  true 
prince/  " 

Claiborne  forced  him  to  lie  down  on  the  bench,  and 
threw  a  blanket  over  him,  and  in  a  moment  saw  that  he 
slept.  In  an  inner  room  the  voices  of  the  prisoners  oc 
casionally  rose  shrilly  as  they  debated  their  situation 
and  prospects.  Claiborne  chewed  a  cigar  and  watched 
and  waited.  Armitage  wakened  suddenly,  sat  up  and 
called  to  Claiborne  with  a  laugh : 

"I  had  a  perfectly  bully  dream,  old  man.  I  dreamed 
that  I  saw  the  ensign  of  Austria-Hungary  flying  from 
the  flag-staff  of  this  shanty;  and  by  Jove,  I'll  take  the 
hint!  We  owe  it  to  the  distinguished  Ambassador  who 
now  approaches  to  fly  his  colors  over  the  front  door. 
We  ought  to  have  a  trumpeter  to  herald  his  arrival — 
but  the  white  and  red  ensign  with  the  golden  crown — 
it's  in  the  leather-covered  trunk  in  my  room — the  one 
with  the  most  steamer  labels  on  it — go  bring  it,  Clai- 


358         THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEX 

borne,  and  we'll  throw  it  to  the  free  airs  of  Virginia. 
And  be  quick — they  ought  to  be  here  by  this  time !" 

He  stood  in  the  door  and  watched  Claiborne  haul  up 
the  flag,  and  he  made  a  mockery  of  saluting  it  as  it 
snapped  out  in  the  fresh  morning  air. 

"The  Port  of  Missing  Men !  It  was  designed  to  be 
extra-territorial,  and  there's  no  treason  in  hauling  up 
an  alien  flag,"  and  his  high  spirits  returned,  and  he 
stalked  back  to  the  fireplace,  chaffing  Claiborne  and 
warning  him  against  ever  again  fighting  under  an  un 
known  banner. 

"Here  they  are,"  called  Claiborne,  and  flung  open 
the  door  as  Shirley,  her  father  and  Baron  von  Marhof 
rode  up  under  the  billowing  ensign.  Dick  stepped  out 
to  meet  them  and  answer  their  questions. 

"Mr.  Armitage  is  here.  He  has  been  hurt  and  we 
have  sent  for  a  doctor;  but" — and  he  looked  at  Shir 
ley. 

"If  you  will  do  me  the  honor  to  enter — all  of  you !" 
and  Armitage  came  out  quickly  and  smiled  upon  them. 

frVTe  had  started  off  to  look  for  Dick  when  we  met 
your  man,7'  said  Shirley,  standing  on  the  steps,  rein  in 
hand 


"WHO    ARE    YOU,    JOHX    ARMITAGE?"  359 

"What  has  happened,  and  how  was  Armitage  in 
jured?"  demanded  Judge  Claiborne. 

"There  was  a  battle/'  replied  Dick,  grinning,  "and 
Mr.  Armitage  got  in  the  way  of  a  bullet.'"' 

Her  ride  through  the  keen  morning  air  had  flooded 
Shirley's  cheeks  with  color.  She  wore  a  dark  blue  skirt 
and  a  mackintosh  with  the  collar  turned  up  about  her 
neck,  and  a  red  scarf  at  her  throat  matched  the  band  of 
her  soft  felt  hat.  She  drew  off  her  gauntlets  and  felt  in 
her  pocket  for  a  handkerchief  with  which  to  brush 
some  splashes  of  mud  that  had  dried  on  her  cheek,  and 
the  action  was  so  feminine,  and  marked  so  abrupt  a 
transition  from  the  strange  business  of  the  night  and 
morning,  that  Armitage  and  Dick  laughed  and  Judge 
Claiborne  turned  upon  them  frowningly. 

Shirley  had  been  awake  much  of  the  night.  On  re 
turning  from  the  ball  at  the  inn  she  found  Dick  still 
absent,  and  when  at  six  o'clock  he  had  not  returned  she 
called  her  father  and  they  had  set  off  together  for  the 
hills,  toward  which,  the  stablemen  reported,  Dick  had 
ridden.  They  had  met  Oscar  just  outside  the  Springs, 
and  had  returned  to  the  hotel  for  Baron  von  Marhof. 
Having  performed  her  office  as  guide  and  satisfied  herself 
that  Dick  was  safe,  she  felt  her  conscience  eased,  and 


360        THE   POET   OE  MISSING  MEN 

could  see  no  reason  why  she  should  not  ride  home  and 
leave  the  men  to  their  council.  Armitage  saw  her  turn  to 
her  horse,  whose  nose  was  exploring  her  mackintosh 
pockets,  and  he  stepped  quickly  toward  her. 

"Yon  see,  Miss  Claiborne,  your  brother  is  quite  safe, 
but  I  very  much  hope  you  will  not  run  away.  There 
are  some  things  to  be  explained  which  it  is  only  fair  you 
should  hear." 

"Wait,  Shirley,  and  we  will  all  go  down  together," 
said  Judge  Claiborne  reluctantly. 

Baron  von  Marhof,  very  handsome  and  distinguished, 
but  mud-splashed,  had  tied  his  horse  to  a  post  in  the 
driveway,  and  stood  on  the  veranda  steps,  his  hat  in  his 
hand,  staring,  a  look  of  bewilderment  on  Ms  face.  Armi 
tage,  bareheaded,  still  in  his  riding  leggings,  his  trousers 
splashed  with  mud,  his  left  arm  sleeveless  and  sup 
ported  by  a  handkerchief  swung  from  his  neck,  shook 
hands  with  Judge  Claiborne. 

"Baron  von  Marhof,  allow  me  to  present  Mr.  Armi 
tage,"  said  Dick,  and  Armitage  walked  to  the  steps  and 
bowed.  The  Ambassador  did  not  offer  his  hand. 

"Won't  you  please  come  in?"  said  Armitage,  smiling 
upon  them,  and  when  they  were  seated  he  took  his  stand 


"WHO    AKE   YOU,   JOHN   AKMITAGE?"   361 

by  the  fireplace,  hesitated  a  moment,  as  though  weigh 
ing  his  words,  and  began : 

"Baron  von  Marhof,  the  events  that  have  led  to  this 
meeting  have  been  somewhat  more  than  unusual — they 
are  unique.  And  complications  have  arisen  which  re 
quire  prompt  and  wise  action.  For  this  reason  I  am  glad 
that  we  shall  have  the  benefit  of  Judge  Claiborne's  ad 
vice." 

" Judge  Claiborne  is  the  counsel  of  our  embassy,"  said 
the  Ambassador.  His  gaze  was  fixed  intently  on  Armi- 
tage's  face,  and  he  hitched  himself  forward  in  his  chair 
impatiently,  grasping  his  crop  nervously  across  his 
knees. 

"You  were  anxious  to  find  me,  Baron,  and  I  may  have 
seemed  hard  to  catch,  but  I  believe  we  have  been  work 
ing  at  cross-purposes  to  serve  the  same  interests." 

The  Baron  nodded. 

"Yes,  I  dare  say,"  he  remarked  dryly. 

"And  some  other  gentlemen,  of  not  quite  your  own 
standing,  have  at  the  same  time  been  seeking  me.  It  will 
give  me  great  pleasure  to  present  one  of  them — one,  I 
believe,  will  be  enough.  Mr.  Claiborne,  will  you  kindly 
allow  Monsieur  Jules  Chauvenet  to  stand  in  the  door  for 
a  moment  ?  I  want  to  ask  him  a  question." 


362         THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

Shirley,  sitting  farthest  from  Armitage,  folded  her 
hands  upon  the  long  table  and  looked  toward  the  door 
into  which  her  brother  vanished.  Then  Jules  Chauvenet 
stood  before  them  all,  and  as  his  eyes  met  hers  for  a  sec 
ond  the  color  rose  to  his  face,  and  he  broke  out  angrily : 

"This  is  infamous!  This  is  an  outrage!  Baron  von 
Marhof,  as  an  Austrian  subject,  I  appeal  to  you  for 
protection  from  this  man !" 

"Monsieur,  you  shall  have  all  the  protection  Baron 
von  Marhof  cares  to  give  you ;  but  first  I  wish  to  ask  you 
a  question — just  one.  You  followed  me  to  America  with 
the  fixed  purpose  of  killing  me.  You  sent  a  Servian  as 
sassin  after  me — a  fellow  with  a  reputation  for  doing 
dirty  work — and  he  tried  to  stick  a  knife  into  me  on  the 
deck  of  the  King  Edward.  I  shall  not  recite  my  subse 
quent  experiences  with  him  or  with  you  and  Monsieur 
Durand.  You  announced  at  Captain  Claiborne's  table 
at  the  Army  and  Navy  Club  in  Washington  that  I  was 
an  impostor,  and  all  the  time,  Monsieur,  you  have  really 
believed  me  to  be  some  one — some  one  in  particular." 

Armitage's  eyes  glittered  and  his  voice  faltered  with 
intensity  as  he  uttered  these  last  words.  Then  he  thrust 
his  hand  into  his  coat  pocket,  stepped  back,  and  con 
cluded  : 


"WHO   AKE   YOU,   JOHN   AKMITAGE?"   363 

"Who  am  I,  Monsieur?" 

Chauvenet  shifted  uneasily  from  one  foot  to  another 
under  the  gaze  of  the  five  people  who  waited  for  his 
answer ;  then  he  screamed  shrilly : 

"You  are  the  devil — an  impostor,  a  liar,  a  thief !" 

Baron  von  Marhof  leaped  to  his  feet  and  roared  at 
Chauvenet  in  English : 

"Who  is  this  man  ?  Whom  do  you  believe  him  to  be  ?" 

"Answer  and  be  quick  about  it !"  snapped  Claiborne. 

"I  tell  you" — began  Chauvenet  fiercely. 

"Who  am  I  ?"  asked  Armitage  again. 

"I  don't  know  who  you  are — " 

"You  do  not !  You  certainly  do  not !"  laughed  Ar 
mitage;  "but  whom  have  you  believed  me  to  be,  Mon 
sieur  ?" 

"I  thought—" 

"Yes ;  you  thought—" 

"I  thought — there  seemed  reasons  to  believe — " 

"Yes ;  and  you  believe  it ;  go  on !" 

Chauvenet's  eyes  blinked  for  a  moment  as  he  con 
sidered  the  difficulties  of  his  situation.  The  presence 
of  Baron  von  Marhof  sobered  him.  America  might  not, 
after  all,  be  so  safe  a  place  from  which  to  conduct  an 
Old  World  conspiracy,  and  this  incident  must,  if  possi- 


364         THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN", 

ble,  be  turned  to  his  own  account.  He  addressed  the 
Baron  in  German : 

"This  man  is  a  designing  plotter;  he  is  bent  upon 
mischief  and  treason;  he  has  contrived  an  attempt 
against  the  noble  ruler  of  our  nation — he  is  a  menace  to 
the  throne — " 

"Who  is  he  ?"  demanded  Marhof  impatiently ;  and  his 
eyes  and  the  eyes  of  all  fell  upon  Armitage. 

"I  tell  you  we  found  him  lurking  about  in  Europe, 
waiting  his  chance,  and  we  drove  him  away — drove  him 
here  to  watch  him.  See  these  things — that  sword — 
those  orders!  They  belonged  to  the  Archduke  Karl. 
Look  at  them  and  see  that  it  is  true !  I  tell  you  we  have 
rendered  Austria  a  high  service.  One  death — one  death 
— at  Vienna — and  this  son  of  a  madman  would  be  king ! 
He  is  Frederick  Augustus,  the  son  of  the  Archduke 
Karl!" 

The  room  was  very  still  as  the  last  words  rang  out. 
The  old  Ambassador's  gaze  clung  to  Armitage;  he 
stepped  nearer,  the  perspiration  breaking  out  upon  his 
brow,  and  his  lips  trembled  as  he  faltered : 

"He  would  be  king ;  he  would  be  king !" 

Then  Armitage  spoke  sharply  to  Claiborne. 

"That  will  do.   The  gentleman  may  retire  now/' 


"WHO    ARE   YOU,   JOHN   ARMITAGE?"  365 

As  Claiborne  thrust  Chauvenet  out  of  the  room,  Ar- 
mitage  turned  to  the  little  company,  smiling. 

"I  am  not  Frederick  Augustus,  the  son  of  the  Arch 
duke  Karl,"  he  said  quietly;  "nor  did  I  ever  pretend 
that  I  was,  except  to  lead  those  men  on  in  their  conspir 
acy.  The  cigarette  case  that  caused  so  much  trouble 
at  Mr.  Claiborne's  supper-party  belongs  to  me.  Here 
it  is." 

The  old  Ambassador  snatched  it  from  him  eagerly. 

"This  device — the  falcon  poised  upon  a  silver  hel 
met  !  You  have  much  to  explain,  Monsieur." 

"It  is  the  coat-of-arms  of  the  house  of  Schomburg. 
The  case  belonged  to  Frederick  Augustus,  Karl's  son; 
and  this  sword  was  his ;  and  these  orders  and  that  cloak 
lying  yonder — all  were  his.  They  were  gifts  from  his 
father.  And  believe  me,  my  friends,  I  came  by  them 
honestly." 

The  Baron  bent  over  the  table  and  spilled  the  orders 
from  their  silver  box  and  scanned  them  eagerly.  The 
colored  ribbons,  the  glittering  jewels,  held  the  eyes  of 
all.  Many  of  them  were  the  insignia  of  rare  orders  no 
longer  conferred.  There  were  the  crown  and  pendant 
cross  of  the  Invincible  Knights  of  Zaringer;  the  white 
falcon  upon  a  silver  helmet,  swung  from  a  ribbon  of 


366         THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

cloth  of  gold — the  familiar  device  of  the  house  of 
Schomburg,  the  gold  Maltese  cross  of  the  Chevaliers  of 
the  Blessed  Sacrament ;  the  crossed  swords  above  an  iron 
crown  of  the  Ancient  Legion  of  Saint  Michael  and 
All  Angels ;  and  the  full-rigged  ship  pendant  from  triple 
anchors — the  decoration  of  the  rare  Spanish  order  of 
the  Star  of  the  Seven  Seas.  Silence  held  the  company 
as  the  Ambassador's  fine  old  hands  touched  one  after  an 
other.  It  seemed  to  Shirley  that  these  baubles  again 
bound  the  New  World,  the  familiar  hills  of  home,  the 
Virginia  shores,  to  the  wallowing  caravels  of  Columbus. 

The  Ambassador  closed  the  silver  box  the  better  to 
examine  the  white  falcon  upon  its  lid.  Then  he  swung 
about  and  confronted  Armitage. 

"Where  is  he,  Monsieur  ?"  he  asked,  his  voice  sunk  to 
a  whisper,  his  eyes  sweeping  the  doors  and  windows. 

"The  Archduke  Karl  is  dead;  his  son  Frederick  Au 
gustus,  whom  these  conspirators  have  imagined  me  to 
be — he,  too,  is  dead."  4 

"You  are  quite  sure — you  are  quite  sure,  Mr.  Armi 
tage?" 

"I  am  quite  sure." 

"That  is  not  enough !  We  have  a  right  to  ask  more 
than  your  word !" 


"WHO    ARE   YOU,   JOHN   ARMITAGE?"  367 

"No,  it  is  not  enough,"  replied  Armitage  quietly. 
"Let  me  make  my  story  brief.  I  need  not  recite  the 
peculiarities  of  the  Archduke — his  dislike  of  conven 
tional  society,  his  contempt  for  sham  and  pretense. 
After  living  a  hermit  life  at  one  of  the  smallest  and 
most  obscure  of  the  royal  estates  for  several  years,  he 
vanished  utterly.  That  was  fifteen  years  ago." 

"Yes;  he  was  mad — quite  mad,"  blurted  the  Baron. 

"That  was  the  common  impression.  He  took  his  oldest 
son  and  went  into  exile.  Conjectures  as  to  his  wherea 
bouts  have  filled  the  newspapers  sporadically  ever  since. 
He  has  been  reported  as  appearing  in  the  South  Sea 
Islands,  in  India,  in  Australia,  in  various  parts  of  this 
country.  In  truth  he  came  directly  to  America  and 
established  himself  as  a  farmer  in  western  Canada. 
His  son  was  killed  in  an  accident;  the  Archduke  died 
within  the  year." 

Judge  Claiborne  bent  forward  in  his  chair  as  Armi 
tage  paused. 

"What  proof  have  you  of  this  story,  Mr.  Armitage  ?" 

"I  am  prepared  for  such  a  question,  gentlemen.  His 
identity  I  may  establish  by  various  documents  which  he 
gave  me  for  the  purpose.  For  greater  security  I  locked 
them  in  a  safety  box  of  the  Bronx  Loan  and  Trust 


368         THE    PORT    OP   MISSING   MEN, 

Company  in  New  York.  To  guard  against  accidents  I 
named  you  jointly  with  myself  as  entitled  to  the  con 
tents  of  that  box.  Here  is  the  key." 

As  he  placed  the  slim  bit  of  steel  on  the  table  and 
stepped  back  to  his  old  position  on  the  hearth,  they  saw 
how  white  he  was,  and  that  his  hand  shook,  and  Dick 
begged  him  to  sit  down. 

"Yes;  will  you  not  be  seated,  Monsieur?"  said  the 
Baron  kindly. 

"No;  I  shall  have  finished  in  a  moment.  The  Arch 
duke  gave  those  documents  to  me,  and  with  them  a  paper 
that  will  explain  much  in  the  life  of  that  unhappy  gen 
tleman.  It  contains  a  disclosure  that  might  in  certain 
emergencies  be  of  very  great  value.  I  beg  of  you,  be 
lieve  that  he  was  not  a  fool,  and  not  a  madman.  He 
sought  exile  for  reasons — for  the  reason  that  his  son 
Francis,  who  has  been  plotting  the  murder  of  the  new 
Emperor-king,  is  not  his  son!" 

"What !"  roared  the  Baron. 

"It  is  as  I  have  said.  The  faithlessness  of  his  wife, 
and  not  madness,  drove  him  into  exile.  He  intrusted 
that  paper  to  me  and  swore  me  to  carry  it  to  Vienna  if 
Francis  ever  got  too  near  the  throne.  It  is  certified  by 
half  a  dozen  officials  authorized  to  administer  oaths  in 


"WHO   AEE   YOU,   JOHN   AKMITAGE?"   369 

Canada,  though  they,  of  course,  never  knew  the  contents 
of  the  paper  to  which  they  swore  him.  He  even  carried  it 
to  New  York  and  swore  to  it  there  before  the  consul- 
general  of  Austria-Hungary  in  that  city.  There  was  a 
certain  grim  humor  in  him;  he  said  he  wished  to  have 
the  affidavit  bear  the  seal  of  his  own  country,  and  the 
consul-general  assumed  that  it  was  a  document  of  mere 
commercial  significance." 

The  Baron  looked  at  the  key;  he  touched  the  silver 
box ;  his  hand  rested  for  a  moment  on  the  sword. 

"It  is  a  marvelous  story — it  is  wonderful !  Can  it  bfe 
true — can  it  be  true  ?"  murmured  the  Ambassador. 

"The  documents  will  be  the  best  evidence.  We  can 
settle  the  matter  in  twenty-four  hours/'  said  Judgf 
Claiborne. 

"You  will  pardon  me  for  seeming  incredulous,  sir," 
said  the  Baron,  "but  it  is  all  so  extraordinary.  And 
these  men,  these  prisoners — " 

"They  have  pursued  me  under  the  impression  that  I 
am  Frederick  Augustus.  Oddly  enough,  I,  too,  anv 
Frederick  Augustus,"  and  Armitage  smiled.  "I  waa 
within  a  few  months  of  his  age,  and  I  had  a  little  brush 
with  Chauvenet  and  Durand  in  Geneva  in  which  they 
captured  my  cigarette  case — it  had  belonged  to  Freder- 


370         THE   PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

ick,  and  the  Archduke  gave  it  to  me — and  my  troubles 
began.  The  Emperor-king  was  old  and  ill ;  the  disorders 
in  Hungary  were  to  cloak  the  assassination  of  his  suc 
cessor;  then  the  Archduke  Francis,  Karl's  reputed  son, 
was  to  be  installed  upon  the  throne." 

"Yes ;  there  has  been  a  conspiracy ;  I — " 

"And  there  have  been  conspirators!  Two  of  them 
are  safely  behind  that  door ;  and,  somewhat  through  my 
efforts,  their  chief,  Winkelried,  should  now  be  under 
arrest  in  Vienna.  I  have  had  reasons,  besides  my  pledge 
to  Archduke  Karl,  for  taking  an  active  part  in  these 
affairs.  A  year  ago  I  gave  Karl's  repudiation  of  his 
second  son  to  Count  Ferdinand  von  Stroebel,  the  prime 
minister.  The  statement  was  stolen  from  him  for  the 
Winkelried  conspirators  by  these  men  we  now  have 
locked  up  in  this  house.'"' 

The  Ambassador's  eyes  blazed  with  excitement  as  these 
statements  fell  one  by  one  from  Armitage's  lips;  but 
Armitage  went  on : 

"I  trust  that  my  plan  for  handling  these  men  will 
meet  with  your  approval.  They  have  chartered  the 
George  W.  Custis,  a  fruit-carrying  steamer  lying  at 
Morgan's  wharf  in  Baltimore,  in  which  they  expected 
to  make  off  after  they  had  finished  with  me.  At  one 


"WHO   ARE   YOU,   JOHN   ARMITAGE?"   371 

time  they  had  some  idea  of  kidnapping  me ;  and  it  isn't 
my  fault  they  failed  at  that  game.  But  I  leave  it  to 
you,  gentlemen,  to  deal  with  them.  I  will'  suggest,  how 
ever,  that  the  presence  just  now  in  the  West  Indies,  of 
the  cruiser  Sophia,  Margaret,  flying  the  flag  of  Austria- 
Hungary,  may  be  suggestive." 

He  smiled  at  the  quick  glance  that  passed  between  the 
Ambassador  and  Judge  Claiborne. 

Then  Baron  von  Marhof  blurted  out  the  question  that 
was  uppermost  in  the  minds  of  all. 

"Who  are  you,  John  Armitage?" 

And  Armitage  answered,  quite  simply  and  in  the 
quiet  tone  that  he  had  used  throughout : 

"I  am  Frederick  Augustus  von  Stroebel,  the  son  of 
your  sister  and  of  the  Count  Ferdinand  von  Stroebel. 
The  Archduke's  son  and  I  were  school-fellows  and  play 
mates  ;  you  remember  as  well  as  I  my  father's  place  near 
the  royal  lands.  The  Archduke  talked  much  of  democ 
racy  and  the  New  World,  and  used  to  joke  about  the 
divine  right  of  kings.  Let  me  make  my  story  short — 
I  found  out  their  plan  of  flight  and  slipped  away  with 
them.  It  was  believed  that  I  had  been  carried  away  bj 
gipsies." 


372        THE    POET   OF   MISSING   MEN 

"•  "Yes,  that  is  true ;  it  is  all  true !  And  you  never  saw 
your  father — you  never  went  to  him  ?" 

"I  was  only  thirteen  when  I  ran  away  with  Karl. 
When  I  appeared  before  my  father  in  Paris  last  year 
he  would  have  sent  me  away  in  anger,  if  it  had  not  been 
that  I  knew  matters  of  importance  to  Austria — Austria, 
always  Austria !" 

"Yes ;  that  was  quite  like  him,"  said  the  Ambassador. 
"He  served  his  country  with  a  passionate  devotion.  He 
hated  America — he  distrusted  the  whole  democratic 
idea.  It  was  that  which  pointed  his  anger  against  you — 
that  you  should  have  chosen  to  live  here." 

"Then  when  I  saw  him  at  Geneva — that  last  inter 
view — he  told  me  that  Karl's  statement  had  been  stolen, 
and  he  had  his  spies  abroad  looking  for  the  thieves.  He 
was  very  bitter  against  me.  It  was  only  a  few  hours  be 
fore  he  was  killed,  as  a  part  of  the  Winkelried  con 
spiracy.  He  had  given  his  life  for  Austria.  He  told  me 
never  to  see  him  again — never  to  claim  my  own  name 
until  I  had  done  something  for  Austria.  And  I  went  to 
Vienna  and  knelt  in  the  crowd  at  his  funeral,  and  no 
one  knew  me,  and  it  hurt  me,  oh,  it  hurt  me  to  know 
that  he  had  grieved  for  me;  that  he  had  wanted  a  son 


"WHO   AEE   YOU,   JOHN   AEMITAGE?"  373 

to  carry  on  his  own  work,  while  I  had  grown  away  from 
the  whole  idea  of  such  labor  as  his.  And  now — " 

He  faltered,  his  hoarse  voice  broke  with  stress  of  feel 
ing,  and  his  pallor  deepened. 

"It  was  not  my  fault — it  was  really  not  my  fault !  I 
did  the  best  I  could,  and,  by  God,  I've  got  them  in  the 
room  there  where  they  can't  do  any  harm ! — and  Dick 
Claiborne,  you  are  the  finest  fellow  in  the  world,  and 
the  squarest  and  bravest,  and  I  want  to  take  your  hand 
before  I  go  to  sleep;  for  I'm  sick — yes,  I'm  sick — and 
sleepy — and  you'd  better  haul  down  that  flag  over  the 
door — it's  treason,  I  tell  you ! — and  if  you  see  Shirley, 
tell  her  I'm  John  Armitage — tell  her  I'm  John  Armi- 
tage,  John  Arm — " 

The  room  and  its  figures  rushed  before  his  eyes,  and 
as  he  tried  to  stand  erect  his  knees  crumpled  under  him, 
and  before  they  could  reach  him  he  sank  to  the  floor 
with  a  moan.  As  they  crowded  about  he  stirred  slightly, 
sighed  deeply,  and  lay  perfectly  still. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

DECENT   DUKIAL 

To-morrow?   "Pis  not  ours  to  know 
That  we  again  shall  see  the  flowers. 

To-morrow  is  the  gods' — but,  oh! 
To-day  Ls  ours. 

—C.  E.  Merrill,  Jr. 

Claiborne  called  Oscar  through  the  soft  dusk  of  the 
April  evening.  The  phalanx  of  stars  marched  augustly 
across  the  heavens.  Claiborne  lifted  his  face  gratefully 
to  the  cool  night  breeze,  for  he  was  worn  with  the  stress 
and  anxiety  of  the  day,  and  there  remained  much  to  do. 
The  bungalow  had  been  speedily  transformed  into  a  hos 
pital.  One  nurse,  borrowed  from  a  convalescent  patient 
at  the  Springs,  was  to  be  reinforced  by  another  sum 
moned  by  wire  from  Washington.  The  Ambassador's  de 
mand  to  be  allowed  to  remove  Armitage  to  his  own 
house  at  the  Springs  had  been  promptly  rejected  by; 
the  surgeon.  A  fever  had  hold  of  John  Armitage,  who 
wa"  ill  enough  without  the  wound  in  his  shoulder,  and; 

374 


•DECENT   BURIAL'  '375 

the  surgeon  moved  his  traps  to  the  bungalow  and  took 
charge  of  the  case.  Oscar  had  brought  Claiborne's  bag, 
and  all  was  now  in  readiness  for  the  night. 

Oscar's  erect  figure  at  salute  and  his  respectful  voice 
brought  Claiborne  down  from  the  stars. 

"We  can  get  rid  of  the  prisoners  to-night — yes  ?" 

"At  midnight  two  secret  service  men  will  be  here 
from  Washington  to  travel  with  them  to  Baltimore  to 
their  boat.  The  Baron  and  my  father  arranged  it  over 
the  telephone  from  the  Springs.  The  prisoners  under 
stand  that  they  are  in  serious  trouble,  and  have  agreed 
to  go  quietly.  The  government  agents  are  discreet  men. 
You  brought  up  the  buckboard  ?" 

"But  the  men  should  be  hanged — for  they  shot  our 
captain,  and  he  may  die." 

The  little  man  spoke  with  sad  cadence.  A  pathos  in 
his  erect,  sturdy  figure,  his  lowered  tone  as  he  referred 
to  Armitage,  touched  Claiborne. 

"He  will  get  well,  Oscar.  Everything  will  seem 
brighter  to-morrow.  You  had  better  sleep  until  it  is  time 
to  drive  to  the  train/' 

Oscar  stepped  nearer  and  his  voice  sank  to  a  whis 
per. 

"I  have  not  forgotten  the  tall  man  who  died ;  it  is  not 


376         THE    PORT   OF   MISSING   MEN 

well  for  him  to  go  unburied.  You  are  not  a  Catholic- 
no?" 

"You  need  not  tell  me  how — or  anything  about  it — 
but  you  are  sure  he  is  quite  dead  ?" 

"He  is  dead;  he  was  a  bad  man,  and  died  very  ter 
ribly/'  said  Oscar,  and  he  took  off  his  hat  and  drew 
his  sleeve  across  his  forehead.  "I  will  tell  you  just  how  it 
was.  When  my  horse  took  the  wall  and  got  their  bullets 
and  tumbled  down  dead,  the  big  man  they  called  Zmai 
saw  how  it  was,  that  we  were  all  coming  over  after 
them,  and  ran.  He  kept  running  through  the  brambles 
and  over  the  stones,  and  I  thought  he  would  soon  turn 
and  we  might  have  a  fight,  but  he  did  not  stop ;  and  I 
could  not  let  him  get  away.  It  was  our  captain  who 
said,  'We  must  take  them  prisoners/  was  it  not  so  ?" 

"Yes ;  that  was  Mr.  Armitage's  wish." 

"Then  I  saw  that  we  were  going  toward  the  bridge, 
the  one  they  do  not  use,  there  at  the  deep  ravine.  I  had 
crossed  it  once  and  knew  that  it  was  weak  and  shaky, 
and  I  slacked  up  and  watched  him.  He  kept  on,  and  just 
before  he  came  to  it,  when  I  was  very  close  to  him,  for 
he  was  a  slow  runner — yes  ?  being  so  big  and  clumsy,  he 
turned  and  shot  at  me  with  his  revolver,  but  he  was  in 
a  hurry  and  missed ;  but  he  ran  on.  His  feet  struck  the 


DECENT   BUKIAL  377 

planks  of  the  bridge  with  a  great  jar  and  creaking,  but 
he  kept  running  and  stumbled  and  fell  once  with  a  mad 
clatter  of  the  planks.  He  was  a  coward  with  a  heart  of 
water,  and  would  not  stop  when  I  called,  and  come  back 
for  a  little  fight.  The  wires  of  the  bridge  hummed  and 
the  bridge  swung  and  creaked.  When  he  was  almost 
midway  of  the  bridge  the  big  wires  that  held  it  began 
to  shriek  out  of  the  old  posts  that  held  them — though  I 
had  not  touched  them — and  it  seemed  many  years  that 
passed  while  the  whole  of  it  dangled  in  the  air  like  a 
bird-nest  in  a  storm ;  and  the  creek  down  below  laughed 
at  that  big  coward.  I  still  heard  his  hoofs  thumping  the 
planks,  until  the  bridge  dropped  from  under  him  and 
left  him  for  a  long  second  with  his  arms  and  legs  flying 
in  the  air.  Yes ;  it  was  very  horrible  to  see.  And  then  his 
great  body  went  down,  down — God !  It  was  a  very  dread 
ful  way  for  a  wicked  man  to  die." 

And  Oscar  brushed  his  hat  with  his  sleeve  and  looked 
away  at  the  purple  and  gray  ridges  and  their  burden  of 
stars. 

"Yes,  it  must  have  been  terrible,"  said  Claiborne. 

"But  now  he  can  not  be  left  to  lie  down  there  on  the 
rocks,  though  he  was  so  wicked  and  died  like  a  beast.  I 
am  a  bad  Catholic,  but  when  I  was  a  boy  I  used  to  serve 


378         THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

mass,  and  it  is  not  well  for  a  man  to  lie  in  a  wild  place 
where  the  buzzards  will  find  him." 

"But  you  can  not  bring  a  priest.  Great  harm  would 
be  done  if  news  of  this  affair  were  to  get  abroad.  You 
understand  that  what  has  passed  here  must  never  be 
known  by  the  outside  world.  My  father  and  Baron  von 
Marhof  have  counseled  that,  and  you  may  be  sure  there 
are  reasons  why  these  things  must  be  kept  quiet,  or  they 
would  seek  the  law's  aid  at  once." 

"Yes ;  I  have  been  a  soldier ;  but  after  this  little  war 
I  shall  bury  the  dead.  In  an  hour  I  shall  be  back  to  drive 
the  buckboard  to  Lamar  station." 

Claiborne  looked  at  his  watch. 

"I  will  go  with  you,"  he  said. 

They  started  through  the  wood  toward  the  Port  of 
Missing  Men;  and  together  they  found  rough  niches  in 
the  side  of  the  gap,  down  which  they  made  their  way  toil 
somely  to  the  boulder-lined  stream  that  laughed  and 
tumbled  f oamily  at  the  bottom  of  the  defile.  They  found 
the  wreckage  of  the  slender  bridge,  broken  to  fragments 
where  the  planking  had  struck  the  rocks.  It  was  very 
quiet  in  the  mountain  cleft,  and  the  stars  seemed  with 
drawn  to  newer  and  deeper  arches  of  heaven  as  they 
sought  in  the  debris  for  the  Servian.  They  kindled  r. 


DECENT    BURIAL  379 

fire  of  twigs  to  give  light  for  their  search,  and  soon  found 
the  great  body  lying  quite  at  the  edge  of  the  torrent, 
with  arms  flung  out  as  though  to  ward  off  a  blow.  The 
face  twisted  with  terror  and  the  small  evil  eyes,  glassed 
in  death,  were  not  good  to  see. 

"He  was  a  wicked  man,  and  died  in  sin.  I  will  dig  a 
grave  for  him  by  these  bushes." 

When  the  work  was  quite  done,  Oscar  took  off  his  hat 
and  knelt  down  by  the  side  of  the  strange  grave  and 
bowed  his  head  in  silence  for  a  moment.  Then  he  began 
to  repeat  words  and  phrases  of  prayers  he  had  known 
as  a  peasant  boy  in  a  forest  over  seas,  and  his  voice  rose 
to  a  kind  of  chant.  Such  petitions  of  the  Litany  of  the 
Saints  as  he  could  recall  he  uttered,  his  voice  rising 
mournfully  among  the  rocks. 

"From,  all  evil;  from  all  sin;  from  Thy  wrath;  from 
sudden  and  unprovided  death,  0  Lord,  deliver  us!" 

Then  he  was  silent,  though  in  the  wavering  flame  of 
the  fire  Claiborne  saw  that  his  lips  still  muttered  prayers 
for  the  Servian's  soul.  When  again  his  words  grew  audi 
ble  he  was  saying : 

" — That  Thou  wouldst  not  deliver  it  into  the  hand  of 
the  enemy,  nor  forget  it  unto  the  end,  but  wouldst  com 
mand  it  to  be  received  by  the  Holy  Angels,  and  con- 


380 

ducted  to  paradise,  its  true  country;  that,  as  in  Thee  it 
liath  hoped  and  believed,  it  may  not  suffer  the  pains  of 
hell,  "but  may  take  possession  of  eternal  joys." 

He  made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  rose,  brushed  the  dirt 
from  his  knees  and  put  on  his  hat. 

"He  was  a  coward  and  died  an  ugly  death,  but  I  am 
glad  I  did  not  kill  him." 

"Yes,  we  were  spared  murder,"  said  Claiborne;  and 
when  they  had  trodden  out  the  fire  and  scattered  the 
embers  into  the  stream,  they  climbed  the  steep  side  of 
the  gap  and  turned  toward  the  bungalow.  Oscar  trudged 
silently  at  Claiborne's  side,  and  neither  spoke.  Both 
were  worn  to  the  point  of  exhaustion  by  the  events  of 
the  long  day;  the  stubborn  patience  and  fidelity  of  the 
little  man  touched  a  chord  in  Claiborne.  Almost  uncon 
sciously  he  threw  his  arm  across  Oscar's  shoulders  and 
walked  thus  beside  him  as  they  traversed  the  battle-field 
of  the  morning. 

"You  knew  Mr.  Armitage  when  he  was  a  boy  ?"  asked 
Claiborne. 

"Yes;  in  the  Austrian  forest,  on  his  father's  place — 
the  Count  Ferdinand  von  Stroebel.  The  young  captain's 
mother  died  when  he  was  a  child;  his  father  was  the 


DECENT   BURIAL  381 

great  statesman,  and  did  much  for  the  Schomburgs  and 
Austria ;  but  it  did  not  aid  his  disposition — no  ?" 

The  secret  service  men  had  come  by  way  of  the 
Springs,  and  were  waiting  at  the  bungalow  to  report  to 
Claiborne.  They  handed  him  a  sealed  packet  of  instruc 
tions  from  the  Secretary  of  War.  The  deportation  of 
Chauvenet  and  Durand  was  to  be  effected  at  once  under 
Claiborne's  direction,  and  he  sent  Oscar  to  the  stables 
for  the  buckboard  and  sat  down  on  the  veranda  to  dis 
cuss  the  trip  to  Baltimore  with  the  two  secret  agents. 
They  were  to  gather  up  the  personal  effects  of  the  con 
spirators  at  the  tavern  on  the  drive  to  Lamar.  The  rooms 
occupied  by  Chauvenet  at  "Washington  had  already  been 
ransacked  and  correspondence  and  memoranda  of  a 
startling  character  seized.  Chauvenet  was  known  to  be  a 
professional  blackmailer  and  plotter  of  political  mischief, 
and  the  embassy  of  Austria-Hungary  had  identified  Du 
rand  as  an  ex-convict  who  had  only  lately  been  impli 
cated  in  the  launching  of  a  dangerous  issue  of  forged 
bonds  in  Paris.  Claiborne  had  been  carefully  coached 
by  his  father,  and  he  answered  the  questions  of  the  offi 
cers  readily : 

"If  these  men  give  you  any  trouble,  put  them  under 
arrest  in  the  nearest  jail.  We  can  bring  them  back  here 


382 

for  attempted  murder,  if  nothing  worse;  and  these 
mountain  juries  will  see  that  they're  put  away  for  a  long 
time.  You  will  accompany  them  on  board  the  George  W. 
Custis,  and  stay  with  them  until  you  reach  Cape  Charles. 
A  lighthouse  tender  will  follow  the  steamer  down  Chesa 
peake  Bay  and  take  you  off.  If  these  gentlemen  do  not 
give  the  proper  orders  to  the  captain  of  the  steamer,  you 
will  put  them  all  under  arrest  and  signal  the  tender." 

Chauvenet  and  Durand  had  been  brought  out  and 
placed  in  the  buckboard,  and  these  orders  were  intended 
for  their  ears. 

"We  will  waive  our  right  to  a  writ  of  habeas  corpus" 
remarked  Durand  cheerfully,  as  Claiborne  flashed  a  lan 
tern  over  them.  "Dearest  Jules,  we  shall  not  forget  Mon 
sieur  Claiborne's  courteous  treatment  of  us." 

"Shut  up !"  snapped  Chauvenet. 

"You  will  both  of  you  do  well  to  hold  your  tongues," 
remarked  Claiborne  dryly.  "One  of  these  officers  under 
stands  French,  and  I  assure  you  they  can  not  be 
bought  or  frightened.  If  you  try  to  bolt,  they  will  cer 
tainly  shoot  you.  If  you  make  a  row  about  going  on 
board  your  boat  at  Baltimore,  remember  they  are  gov 
ernment  agents,  with  ample  authority  for  any  emer- 


DECENT    BURIAL  333 

and  that  Baron  von  Marhof  has  the  American 
State  Department  at  his  back." 

"You  are  wonderful,  Captain  Claiborne,"  drawled  Du- 
rand. 

"There  is  no  trap  in  this  ?  You  give  us  the  freedom 
of  the  sea  ?"  demanded  Chauvenet. 

"I  gave  you  the  option  of  a  Virginia  prison  for  con 
spiracy  to  murder,  or  a  run  for  your  life  in  your  own 
boat  beyond  the  Capes.  You  have  chosen  the  second  al 
ternative  ;  if  you  care  to  change  your  decision — " 

Oscar  gathered  up  the  reins  and  waited  for  the  word. 
Claiborne  held  his  watch  to  the  lantern. 

"We  must  not  miss  our  train,  my  dear  Jules !"  said 
Durand. 

"Bah,  Claiborne!  this  is  ungenerous  of  you.  You 
know  well  enough  this  is  an  unlawful  proceeding — kid 
napping  us  this  way — without  opportunity  for  counsel." 

"And  without  benefit  of  clergy,"  laughed  Claiborne. 
"Is  it  a  dash  for  the  sea,  or  the  nearest  county  jail  ?  If 
you  want  to  tackle  the  American  courts,  we  have  nothing 
to  venture.  The  Winkelried  crowd  are  safe  behind  the 
bars  in  Vienna,  and  publicity  can  do  us  no  harm." 

"Drive  on !"  ejaculated  Chauvenet. 

As  the  buckboard  started,  Baron  von  Marhof  and 


384         THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

Judge  Claiborne  rode  up,  and  watched  the  departure 
from  their  saddles. 

"That's  the  end  of  one  chapter,"  remarked  Judge 
I  Claiborne. 

"They're  glad  enough  to  go,"  said  Dick.  "What's  the 
latest  word  from.  Vienna  ?" 

"The  conspirators  were  taken  quietly ;  about  one  hun 
dred  arrests  have  been  made  in  all,  and  the  Hungarian 
uprising  has  pla}^ed  out  utterly — thanks  to  Mr.  John 
Armitage,"  and  the  Baron  sighed  and  turned  toward  the 
bungalow. 

When  the  two  diplomats  rode  home  half  an  hour  later, 
it  was  with  the  assurance  that  Armitage's  condition  was 
satisfactory. 

"He  is  a  hardy  plant,"  said  the  surgeon,  "and  will 
pull  through." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

JOHN   ARJIITAGB 

If  so  be,  you  can  discover  a  mode  of  life  more  desirable 
than  the  being  a  king,  for  those  who  shall  be  kings;  then 
the  true  Ideal  of  the  State  will  become  a  possibility;  but  not 
otherwise. — Marius  tlie  Epicurean. 

June  roses  overflowed  the  veranda  rail  of  Baron  von 
Marhof's  cottage  at  Storm  Springs.  The  Ambassador 
and  his  friend  and  counsel,  Judge  Hilton  Claiborne,  sat 
in  a  cool  corner  with  a  wicker  table  between  them.  The 
representative  of  Austria-Hungary  shook  his  glass  with 
an  impatience  that  tinkled  the  ice  cheerily. 

"He's  as  obstinate  as  a  mule !" 

Judge  Claiborne  laughed  at  the  Baron's  vehemence. 

"He  comes  by  it  honestly.  I  can  imagine  his  father 
doing  the  same  thing  under  similar  circumstances." 

"What !  This  rot  about  democracy !  This  light  toss 
ing  away  of  an  honest  title,  a  respectable  fortune !  My 
dear  sir,  there  is  such  a  thing  as  carrying  democracy  too 
far!" 

385 


386         THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

"I  suppose  there  is;  but  he's  of  age;  he's  a  grown 
man.  I  don't  see  what  you're  going  to  do  about  it." 

"Neither  do  I!  But  think  what  he's  putting  aside. 
The  boy's  clever — he  has  courage  and  brains,  as  we 
know ;  he  could  have  position — the  home  government  is 
under  immense  obligations  to  him.  A  word  from  me  to 
Vienna  and  his  services  to  the  crown  would  be  acknow 
ledged  in  the  most  generous  fashion.  And  with  his  fa 
ther's  memory  and  reputation  behind  him — " 

"But  the  idea  of  reward  doesn't  appeal  to  him.  We 
canvassed  that  last  night." 

"There's  one  thing  I  haven't  dared  to  ask  him:  to 
take  his  own  name — to  become  Frederick  Augustus  von 
Stroebel,  even  if  he  doesn't  want  his  father's  money  or 
the  title.  Quite  likely  he  will  refuse  that,  too." 

"It  is  possible.  Most  things  seem  possible  with  Armi- 
tage." 

"It's  simply  providential  that  he  hasn't  become  a  citi 
zen  of  your  republic.  That  would  have  been  the  last 
straw !" 

They  rose  as  Armitage  called  to  them  from  a  French 
window  near  by. 

"Good  afternoon,  gentlemen!    When  two  diplomats 


JOHN   AEMITAGE  387 

get  their  heads  together  on  a  summer  afternoon,  the  uni 
verse  is  in  danger." 

He  came  toward  them  hatless,  but  trailing  a  stick  that 
had  been  the  prop  of  his  later  convalescence.  His  Uue 
serge  coat,  a  negligee  shirt  and  duck  trousers  had  been 
drawn  a  few  days  before  from  the  trunks  brought  by  Os 
car  from  the  bungalow.  He  was  clean-shaven  for  the 
first  time  since  his  illness,  and  the  two  men  looked  at 
him  with  a  new  interest.  His  deepened  temples  and  lean 
cheeks  and  hands  told  their  story;  but  his  step  was  re 
gaining  its  old  assurance,  and  his  eyes  were  clear  and 
bright.  He  thrust  the  little  stick  under  his  arm  and 
stood  erect,  gazing  at  the  near  gardens  and  then  at  the 
hills.  The  wind  tumbled  his  brown  newly-trimmed  hair, 
and  caught  the  loose  ends  of  his  scarf  and  whipped  them 
free. 

"Sit  down.  We  were  just  talking  of  you.  You  are  get 
ting  so  much  stronger  every  day  that  we  can't  be  sure  of 
you  long,"  said  the  Baron. 

"You  have  spoiled  me, — I  am  not  at  all  anxious  to 
venture  back  into  the  world.  These  Virginia  gardens 
are  a  dream  world,  where  nothing  is  really  quite  true." 

"Something  must  be  done  about  your  father's  estate 
,soon.  It  is  yours,  waiting  and  ready." 


S88         THE    PORT   OF   MISSING   MEN 

The  Baron  bent  toward  the  young  man  anxiously. 

Armitage  shook  his  head  slowly,  and  clasped  the  stick 
with  both  hands  and  held  it  across  his  knees. 

"No, — no !  Please  let  us  not  talk  of  that  any  more.  I 
could  not  feel  comfortable  about  it.  I  have  kept  my 
pledge  to  do  something  for  his  country — something  that 
iwe  may  hope  pleases  him  if  he  knows." 

The  three  were  silent  for  a  moment.  A  breeze,  sweet 
•with  pine-scent  of  the  hills,  swept  the  valley,  taking  trib 
ute  of  the  gardens  as  it  passed.  The  Baron  was  afraid  to 
venture  his  last  request. 

"But  the  name — the  honored  name  of  the  greatest 
statesman  Austria  has  known — a  name  that  will  endure 
with  the  greatest  names  of  Europe — surely  you  can  at 
least  accept  that." 

The  Ambassador's  tone  was  as  gravely  importunate  as 
though  he  were  begging  the  cession  of  a  city  from  a  harsh 
conqueror.  Armitage  rose  and  walked  the  length  of  the 
veranda.  He  had  not  seen  Shirley  since  that  morning 
•when  the  earth  had  slipped  from  under  his  feet  at  the 
bungalow.  The  Claibornes  had  been  back  and  forth 
often  between  Washington  and  Storm  Springs.  The 
Judge  had  just  been  appointed  a  member  of  the  Brazilian 
boundary  commission  which  was  to  meet  shortly  in  Ber- 


JOHN    AKMITAGE  389 

lin,  and  Mrs.  Claiborne  and  Shirley  were  to  go  with.  him. 
In  the  Claiborne  garden,  beyond  and  below,  he  saw  a 
flash  of  white  here  and  there  among  the  dark  green 
hedges.  He  paused,  leaned  against  a  pillar,  and  waited 
until  Shirley  crossed  one  of  the  walks  and  passed  slowly 
on,  intent  upon  the  rose  trees ;  and  he  saw — or  thought 
he  saw — the  sun  searching  out  the  gold  in  her  brown 
hair.  She  was  hatless.  Her  white  gown  emphasized 
the  straight  line  of  her  figure.  She  paused  to  ponder 
some  new  arrangement  of  a  line  of  hydrangeas,  and  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  her  against  a  pillar  of  crimson 
ramblers.  Then  he  went  back  to  the  Baron. 

"How  much  of  our  row  in  the  hills  got  into  the  news 
papers  ?"  he  asked,  sitting  down. 

"Nothing, — absolutely  nothing.  The  presence  of  the 
Sophia  Margaret  off  the  capes  caused  inquiries  to  be 
made  at  the  embassy,  and  several  correspondents  came 
down  here  to  interview  me.  Then  the  revenue  officers 
made  some  raids  in  the  hills  opportunely  and  created  a 
local  diversion.  You  were  hurt  while  cleaning  your  gun, 
— please  do  not  forget  that ! — and  you  are  a  friend  of  my 
family, — a  very  eccentric  character,  who  has  chosen  to 
li?e  in  the  wilderness." 

The  Judge  and  Armitage  laughed  at  these  explana- 


390         THE    PORT    OF   MISSING   MEN 

tions,  though,  there  was  a  little  constraint  upon  them  all. 
The  Baron's  question  was  still  unanswered. 

"You  ceased  to  be  of  particular  interest  some  time 
ago.  While  you  were  sick  the  fraudulent  Von  Kissel  was 
arrested  in  Australia,  and  I  believe  some  of  the  news 
papers  apologized  to  you  handsomely." 

"That  was  very  generous  of  them;"  and  Armitage 
shifted  his  position  slightly.  A  white  skirt  had  flashed 
again  in  the  Claiborne  garden  and  he  was  trying  to  fol 
low  it.  At  the  same  time  there  were  questions  he 
wished  to  ask  and  have  answered.  The  Baroness  von 
Marhof  had  already  gone  to  Newport;  the  Baron  lin 
gered  merely  out  of  good  feeling  toward  Armitage — for 
it  was  as  Armitage  that  he  was  still  known  to  the  people 
of  Storm  Springs,  to  the  doctor  and  nurses  who  tended 
him. 

"The  news  from  Vienna  seems  tranquil  enough,"  re 
marked  Armitage.  He  had  not  yet  answered  the  Baron's 
question,  and  the  old  gentleman  grew  restless  at  the  de 
lay.  "I  read  in  the  Neue  Freie  Presse  a  while  ago  that 
Charles  Louis  is  showing  an  unexpected  capacity  for  af 
fairs.  It  is  reported,  too,  that  an  heir  is  in  prospect.  The 
Winkelried  conspiracy  is  only  a  bad  dream  and  we  may 
safely  turn  to  other  affairs/' 


JOHX   AKMITAGE  391 

"Yes ;  but  the  margin  by  which  we  escaped  is  too  nar 
row  to  contemplate." 

"We  have  a  saying  that  a  miss  is  as  good  as  a  mile/' 
remarked  Judge  Claiborne.  "We  have  never  told  Mr. 
Armitage  that  we  found  the  papers  in  the  safety  box  at 
New  York  to  be  as  he  described  them." 

"They  are  dangerous.  We  have  hesitated  as  to  whether 
there  was  more  risk  in  destroying  them  than  in  preserv 
ing  them,"  said  the  Baron. 

Armitage  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  laughed. 

"They  are  out  of  my  hands.  I  positively  decline  to 
accept  their  further  custody." 

A  messenger  appeared  with  a  telegram  which  the 
Baron  opened  and  read. 

"It's  from  the  commander  of  the  Sophia  Margaret, 
who  is  just  leaving  Rio  Janeiro  for  Trieste,  and  reports 
his  prisoners  safe  and  in  good  health." 

"It  was  a  happy  thought  to  have  him  continue  his 
cruise  to  the  Brazilian  coast  before  returning  homeward. 
By  the  time  he  delivers  those  two  scoundrels  to  his  gov 
ernment  their  fellow  conspirators  will  have  forgotten 
they  ever  lived.  But" — and  Judge  Claiborne  shrugged 
his  shoulders  and  smiled  disingenuously — "as  a  lawyer 
I  deplore  such  methods.  Think  what  a  stir  would  be 


392         THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

made  in  this  country  if  it  were  known  that  two  men  had 
been  kidnapped  in  the  sovereign  state  of  Virginia  and 
taken  out  to  sea  under  convoy  of  ships  carrying  our  flag 
for  transfer  to  an  Austrian  battle-ship !  That's  what  we 
get  for  being  a  free  republic  that  can  not  countenance 
the  extradition  of  a  foreign  citizen  for  a  political  of 
fense." 

Armitage  was  not  listening.  Questions  of  interna 
tional  law  and  comity  had  no  interest  for  him  whatever. 
The  valley  breeze,  the  glory  of  the  blue  Virginia  sky, 
the  far-stretching  lines  of  hills  that  caught  and  led  the 
eye  like  sea  billows;  the  dark  green  of  shrubbery,  the 
slope  of  upland  meadows,  and  that  elusive,  vanishing 
gleam  of  white, — before  such  things  as  these  the  splen 
dor  of  empire  and  the  might  of  armies  were  unworthy  of 
man's  desire. 

The  Baron's  next  words  broke  harshly  upon  his  mood. 

"The  gratitude  of  kings  is  not  a  thing  to  be  despised. 
You  could  go  to  Vienna  and  begin  where  most  men  leave 
off!  Strong  hands  are  needed  in  Austria, — you  could 
make  yourself  the  younger — the  great  Stroebel — " 

The  mention  of  his  name  brought  back  the  Baron's 
still  unanswered  question.  He  referred  to  it  now,  as  he 
stood  before  them  smiling. 


JOHN"   AEMITAGE  393 

"I  have  answered  all  your  questions  but  one ;  I  shall 
answer  that  a  little  later, — if  you  will  excuse  me  for 
just  a  few  minutes  I  will  go  and  get  the  answer, — that  is, 
gentlemen,  I  hope  I  shall  be  able  to  bring  it  back  with 
me." 

He  turned  and  ran  down  the  steps  and  strode  away 
through  the  long  shadows  of  the  garden.  They  heard 
the  gate  click  after  him  as  he  passed  into  the  Claiborne 
grounds  and  then  they  glanced  at  each  other  with  such 
a  glance  as  may  pass  between  two  members  of  a  peace 
commission  sitting  on  the  same  side  of  the  table,  who 
will  not  admit  to  each  other  that  the  latest  proposition, 
of  the  enemy  has  been  in  the  nature  of  a  surprise.  They 
did  not,  however,  suffer  themselves  to  watch  Armitage, 
but  diplomatically  refilled  their  glasses. 

Through  the  green  walls  went  Armitage.  He  had  not 
been  out  of  the  Baron's  grounds  before  since  he  was  car 
ried  thence  from  the  bungalow;  and  it  was  pleasant  to 
be  free  once  more,  and  able  to  stir  without  a  nurse  at  his 
heels ;  and  he  swung  along  with  his  head  and  shoulders 
erect,  walking  with  the  confident  stride  of  a  man  who 
has  no  doubt  whatever  of  his  immediate  aim. 

At  the  pergola  he  paused  to  reconnoiter,  finding  on 
the  bench  certain  vestigia,  that  interested  him  deeply, — 


394         THE    PORT    OF.   MISSING-   MEN 

a  pink  parasol,  a  contrivance  of  straw,  lace  and  pink 
roses  that  seemed  to  be  a  hat,  and  a  June  magazine.  He 
jumped  upon  the  bench  where  once  he  had  sat,  an  exile, 
a  refugee,  a  person  discussed  in  disagreeable  terms  by 
the  newspapers,  and  studied  the  landscape.  Then  he 
went  on  up  the  gradual  slope  of  the  meadow,  until  he 
came  to  the  pasture  wall.  It  was  under  the  trees  beneath 
which  Oscar  had  waited  for  Zmai  that  he  found  her. 

"They  told  me  you  wouldn't  dare  venture  out  for  a 
week,"  she  said,  advancing  toward  him  and  giving  him 
her  hand. 

"That  was  what  they  told  me,"  he  said,  laughing;  "but 
I  escaped  from  my  keepers." 

"You  will  undoubtedly  take  cold, — without  your  hat !" 

"Yes;  I  shall  undoubtedly  have  pneumonia  from  ex 
posure  to  the  Virginia  sunshine.  I  take  my  chances." 

"You  may  sit  on  the  wall  for  three  minutes ;  then  you 
must  go  back.  I  can  not  be  responsible  for  the  life  of 
a  wounded  hero." 

"Please !"  He  held  up  his  hand.  "That's  wliat  I  came 
to  talk  to  you  about." 

"About  being  a  hero  ?  You  have  taken  an  unfair  ad 
vantage.  I  was  going  to  send  for  the  latest  designs  in 
laurel  wreaths  to-morrow." 


JOHN   AEMITAGE  395 

She  sat  down  beside  him  on  the  wall.  The  sheep  were 
a  grayish  blur  against  the  green.  A  little  negro  boy  was 
shepherding  them,  and  they  scampered  before  him 
toward  the  farther  end  of  the  pasture.  The  faint  and 
vanishing  tinkle  of  a  bell,  and  the  boy's  whistle,  gave 
emphasis  to  the  country-quiet  of  the  late  afternoon. 
They  spoke  rapidly  and  impersonally  of  his  adventures 
in  the  hills  and  of  his  illness.  When  they  looked  at  each 
other  it  was  with  swift  laughing  glances.  Her  cheeks  and 
hands  were  already  brown, — an  honest  brown  won  from 
May  and  June  in  the  open  field, — not  that  blistered, 
peeling  scarlet  that  marks  the  insincere  devotee  of 
racket,  driver  and  oar,  who  jumps  into  the  game  in 
August,  but  the  real  brown  conferred  by  the  dear  mother 
of  us  all  upon  the  faithful  who  go  forth  to  meet  her  in 
April.  Her  hands  interested  him  particularly.  They  were 
long,  slender  and  supple ;  and  she  had  a  pretty  way  of 
folding  them  upon  her  knees  that  charmed  him. 

"I  didn't  know,  Miss  Claiborne,  that  I  was  going  to 
lose  my  mind  that  morning  at  the  bungalow  or  I  should 
have  asked  your  brother  to  conduct  you  to  the  conserva 
tory  while  I  fainted.  From  what  they  told  me  I  must 
have  been  a  little  light-headed  for  a  day  or  two.  If  I 
had  been  in  my  right  mind  I  shouldn't  have  let  Captain 


396         THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

Dick  mix  up  in  my  business  and  run  the  risk  of  getting 
killed  in  a  nasty  little  row.  Dear  old  Dick!  I  made  a 
mess  of  that  whole  business ;  I  ought  to  have  telegraphed 
for  the  Storm  Springs  constable  in  the  beginning,  and 
told  him  that  if  he  wasn't  careful  the  noble  house  of 
Schomburg  would  totter  and  fall." 

"Yes ;  and  just  imagine  the  effect  on  our  constable  of 
telling  him  that  the  fate  of  an  empire  lay  in  his  hands. 
It's  hard  enough  to  get  a  man  arrested  who  beats  his 
horse.  But  you  must  go  back  to  your  keepers.  You 
haven't  your  hat — " 

"Neither  have  you;  you  shan't  outdo  me  in  reckless 
ness.  I  inspected  your  hat  as  I  came  through  the  per 
gola.  I  liked  it  immensely;  I  came  near  seizing  it  as 
spoil  of  war, — the  loot  of  the  pergola !" 

"There  would  be  cause  for  another  war ;  I  have  rarely 
liked  any  hat  so  much.  But  the  Baron  will  be  after  you 
in  a  moment.  I  can't  be  responsible  for  you." 

"The  Baron  annoys  me.  He  has  given  me  a  lot  of 
worry.  And  that's  what  I  have  come  to  ask  you 
about." 

"Then  I  should  say  that  you  oughtn't  to  quarrel  with 
a  dear  old  man  like  Baron  von  Marhof.  Besides,  he's 
your  uncle." 


JOHN   ARMITAGE  397 

"No !  No !  I  don't  want  him  to  be  my  uncle !  I  don't 
need  any  uncle  V 

He  glanced  about  with  an  anxiety  that  made  her 
laugh. 

"I  understand  perfectly !  My  father  told  me  that  the 
events  of  April  in  these  hills  were  not  to  be  mentioned. 
But  don't  worry ;  the  sheep  won't  tell — and  I  won't." 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment  as  he  thought  out  the 
words  of  what  he  wished  to  say  to  her.  The  sun  was 
dipping  down  into  the  hills;  the  mellow  air  was  still; 
the  voice  of  a  negro  singing  as  he  crossed  a  distant  field 
stole  sweetly  upon  them. 

"Shirley !" 

He  touched  her  hand. 

"Shirley !"  and  his  fingers  closed  upon  hers. 

"I  love  you,  Shirley !  From  those  days  when  I  saw  you 
in  Paris, — before  the  great  Gettysburg  battle  picture,  I 
loved  you.  You  had  felt  the  cry  of  the  Old  World,  the 
story  that  is  in  its  battle-fields,  its  beauty  and  romance, 
just  as  I  had  felt  the  call  cf  this  new  and  more  wonder 
ful  world.  I  understood — I  knew  what  was  in  your 
heart ;  I  knew  what  those  things  meant  to  you ; — but  I 
had  put  them  aside ;  I  had  chosen  another  life  for  my 
self.  And  the  poor  life  that  you  saved,  that  is  yours  if 


398         THE    POET    OF   MISSING   MEN 

you  will  take  it.  I  have  told  your  father  and  Baron  von 
Marhof  that  I  would  not  take  the  fortune  my  father  left 
me ;  I  would  not  go  back  there  to  be  thanked  or  to  get  a 
ribbon  to  wear  in  my  coat.  But  my  name,  the  name  I 
bore  as  a  boy  and  disgraced  in  my  father's  eyes, — his 
name  that  he  made  famous  throughout  the  world,  the 
name  I  cast  aside  with  my  youth,  the  name  I  flung  away 
in  anger, — they  wish  me  to  take  that." 

She  withdrew  her  hand  and  rose  and  looked  away  to 
ward  the  western  hills. 

"The  greatest  romance  in  the  world  is  here,  Shirley. 
I  have  dreamed  it  all  over, — in  the  Canadian  woods,  on 
the  Montana  ranch  as  I  watched  the  herd  at  night.  My 
father  spent  his  life  keeping  a  king  upon  his  throne ;  but 
I  believe  there  are  higher  things  and  finer  things  than 
steadying  a  shaking  throne  or  being  a  king.  And  the 
name  that  has  meant  nothing  to  me  except  dominion  and 
power, — it  can  serve  no  purpose  for  me  to  take  it  now. 
I  learned  much  from  the  poor  Archduke ;  he  taught  me 
to  hate  the  sham  and  shame  of  the  life  he  had  fled  from. 
My  father  was  the  last  great  defender  of  the  divine  right 
of  kings ;  but  I  believe  in  the  divine  right  of  men.  And 
the  dome  of  the  Capitol  in  Washington  does  not  mean  to 
me  force  or  hatred  or  power,  but  faith  and  hope  and 


JOHN    AKMITAGE  399 

man's  right  to  live  and  do  anJ.  ^o  whatever  he  can  make 
himself.  I  will  not  go  back  or  take  the  old  name  unless, 
— unless  you  tell  me  I  must,  Shirley !" 

There  was  an  instant  in  which  they  both  faced  the 
westering  sun.  He  looked  down  suddenly  and  the  deep 
feeling  in  his  heart  went  to  his  lips. 

"It  was  that  way, — you  were  just  like  that  when  I  saw 
you  first,  Shirley,  with  the  dreams  in  your  eyes." 

He  caught  her  hand  and  kissed  it, — bending  very  low 
indeed.  Suddenly,  as  he  stood  erect,  her  arms  were  about 
his  neck  and  her  cheek  with  its  warmth  and  color  lay 
against  his  face. 

"I  do  not  know," — and  he  scarcely  heard  the  whis 
pered  words, — "I  do  not  know  Frederick  Augustus  von 
Stroebel, — but  I  love — John  Armitage,"  she  said. 

Then  back  across  the  meadow,  through  the  rose-aisled 
ways  of  the  quiet  garden,  they  went  hand  in  hand  to 
gether  and  answered  the  Baron's  questio'n. 


THJB  END 


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THE  AFFAIR  AT  THE  IXX.    By  Kate  Douglas  Wiggin. 

With  illustrations  by  Martin  Justice. 

"  As  superlatively  clever  in  the  writing  as  it  is  entertaining  in  the 
reading.  It  is  actual  comedy  of  the  most  artistic  sort,  and  it  is 
handled  with  a  freshness  and  originality  that  is  unquestionably 
novel." — Boston  Transcript.  "  A  feast  of  humor  and  good  cheer, 
yet  subtly  pervaded  by  special  shades  of  feeling,  fancy,  tenderness, 
or  whimsicality.  A  merry  thing  in  prose," — St.  Louis  Democrat. 

ROSE  O'  THE  RIVER.    By  Kate  Douglas  Wiggin.    With 

illustrations  by  George  Wright. 

"'Rose  o'  the  River,'  a  charming  bit  of  sentiment,  gracefully 
written  and  deftly  touched  with  a  gentle  humor.  It  is  adaintv  book 
—daintily  illustrated." — New  York  Tribune.  "A  wholesome,  bright, 
refreshing  story,  an  ideal  book  to  give  a  young  girl." — Chicago 
Record-Herald.  "An  idyllic  story,  replete  with  pathos  and  inimita 
ble  humor.  As  story-telling  it  is  perfection,  and  as  portrait-painting 
it  is  true  to  the  life." — London  Mail. 

TILLIE:    A  Mcnnonite  Maid.    By  Helen  R.  Martin.    With 

illustrations  by  Florence  Scovel  Sninn. 

The  little  "  Mennonite  Maid  "  who  wanders  through  these  pages 
is  something  quite  new  in  fiction.  Tiliie  is  hungry  for  books  and 
beauty  and  love ;  and  she  comes  into  her  inheritance  at  the  end. 
"Tillie  is  faulty,  sensitive,  big-hearted,  eminently  human,  and  first, 
last  and  always  lovable.  Her  charm  glows  warmly,  the  story  is  well 
handled,  the  characters  skilfully  developed." — The  Book  Buyer. 

LADY  ROSE'S  DAUGHTER.    By  Mrs.  Humphry  WTard. 

With  illustrations  by  Howard  Chandler  Christy. 
"  The  most  marvellous  work  of  its  wonderful  author." — N'ew  York 
World.  "\Ve  touch  regions  and  attain  altitudes  which  it  is  not  given 
to  the  ordinary  novelist  even  to  approach." — London  Times.  "In 
no  other  story  has  Mrs.  Ward  approached  the  brilliancy  and  vivacity 
of  Lady  Rose's  Daughter." — North  American  R&iew. 

THE  BANKER  AND  THE  BEAR.  By  Henry  K.  Webster. 
"  An  exciting  and  absorbing  storv." — New  York  Times.  ''Intense 
ly  thrilling  in  parts,  but  an  unusually  good  story  all  through.  There 
is  a  love  affair  of  real  charm  and  most  novel  surroundings,  there  is  a 
run  on  the  bank  which  is  almost  worth  a  vear"s  growth,  and  there  is 
all  manner  of  exhilarating  men  and  deeds  which  should  bring  the 
book  in:o  high  and  permanent  favor." — Chicago  Evening  Post. 

GR03SET  &  DUXLAP,  T~  NT.W  YORK 


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BEVERLY  OF  GRAUSTARK.  By  George  Barr  McCut- 
cheon.  With  Color  Frontispiece  and  other  illustrations 
by  Harrison  Fisher.  Beautiful  inlay  picture  in  colors  of 
Beverly  on  the  cover. 

"  The  most  fascinating,  engrossing  and  picturesque  of  the  season's 
novels." — Boston  Herald.  "'Beverly'  is  altogether  charming — al 
most  living  flesh  and  blood."—  Louisville  Times.  "  Better  than 
'  Graustark  ','"' — Mail  and  Express.  "  A  sequel  quite  as  impossible 
as  '  Graus'ark '  and  quite  as  entertaining." — Bookman,  "  A  charm 
ing  love  story  well  told." — Boston  Transcript^ 

HALF  A  ROGUE.    By  Harold  MacGrath.     With  fflustra- 

tions  and  inlay  cover  picture  by  Harrison  Fisher. 
"  Here  are  dexterity  of  plot,  glancing  play  at  witty  talk,  characters 
really  human  and  humanly  real,  spirit  and  gladness,  freshness  and 
quick  movement.  '  Half  a  Rogue  '  is  as  brisk  as  a  horseback  ride  on 
a  glorious  morning.  It  is  as  varied  as  an  April  day.  It  is  as  charming 
as  two  most  charming  girls  can  make  it.  Love  and  honor  and  suc 
cess  and  all  the  great  things  worth  fighting  for  and  living  for  the  in 
volved  in  '  Half  a  Rogue.'  "—Phila.  Press. 

THE  GIRL  FROM  TIM'S   PLACE.     By  Charles  Clark 

Munn.  With  illustrations  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 
"  Figuring  in  the  pages  of  this  story  there  are  several  strong  char 
acters.  Typical  New  England  folk  and  an  especially  sturdy  one,  old 
Cy  Walker,  through  whose  instrumentality  Chip  comes  to  happiness 
and  fortune.  There  is  a  chain  of  comedy,  tragedy,  pathos  and  love, 
which  makes  a  dramatic  story." — Boston  Herald. 

THE  LION  AND  THE  MOUSE.    A  story  of  American  Life. 
By  Charles  Klein,  and  Arthur  Hornblow.      With  illustra 
tions  by  Stuart  Travis,  and  Scenes  from  the  Play. 
The  novel  duplicated  the  success  of  the  play;  in  fact  the  book  is 
greater  than  the  play.    A  portentous  clash  of  dominant  personalties 
that  form  the  essence  of  the  play  are  necessarily  touched  upon  but 
briefly  in  the  short  space  of  four  acts.      All  this  is  narrated  in  the 
novel  with  a  wealth  of  fascinating  and  absorbing  detail,  making  it  one 
of  the  most  powerfully  written  and  exciting  works  of  fiction  given  to 
the  world  In  years. 

GROSSET  &  DUXLAP,  -  ~NEW  YORK 


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Re-issues  of  the  great  literary  successes  of  the  time.  Library 
size.  Printed  on  excellent  paper — most  of  them  with  illustra 
tions  of  marked  beauty — and  handsomely  bound  in  cloth. 
Price,  75  cents  a  volume,  postpaid. 

THE   SPIRIT   OF   THE   SERVICE.     By  Edith  Elmer 

Wood.  With  illustrations  by  Rufus  Zogbaum. 
The  standards  and  life  of  "  the  new  navy"  are  breezily  set  forth 
with  a  geuuine  ring  impossible  from  the  most  gifted  "outsider." 
"  The  story  of  the  destruction  of  the  '  Maine,'  and  of  the  Battle  of 
Manila,  are  very  dramatic.  The  author  is  the  daughter  of  one  naval 
officer  and  the  wife  of  another.  Naval  folks  will  find  much  to  inter 
est  them  in '  The  Spirit  of  the  Service.'  "—The  Book  Buyer. 

A  SPECTRE  OF  POWER.  By  Charles  Egbert  Craddock. 
Miss  Murfree  has  pictured  Tennessee  mountains  and  the  mountain 
people  in  striking  colors  and  with  dramatic  vividness,  but  goes  back 
to  the  time  of  the  struggles  of  the  French  and  English  in  the  early 
eighteenth  century  for  possession  of  the  Cherokee  territory.  The 
story  abounds  in  adventure,  mystery,  peril  and  suspense, 

THE  STORM  CENTRE.    By  Charles  Egbert  Craddock. 

A  war  story ;  but  more  of  flirtation,  love  and  courtship  than  of 
fighting  or  history.  The  tale  is  thoroughly  readable  and  takes  its 
readers  again  into  golden  Tennessee,  into  the  atmosphere  which  has 
distinguished  all  of  Miss  Murfree 's  novels. 

THE  ADVENTURESS.  By  Coralie  Stanton.  With  color 
frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher,  and  attractive  inlay  cover 
in  colors. 

As  a  penalty  for  her  crimes,  her  evil  nature,  her  flint-like  callous- 
i.ass,  her  more  than  inhuman  cruelty,  her  contempt  for  the  laws  of 
God  and  man,  she  was  condemned  to  bury  her  magnificent  personal 
ty,  her  transcendent  beauty,  her  superhuman  charms,  in  gilded 
obscurity  at  a  King's  left  hand.  A  powerful  story  powerfully  told. 

THE    GOLDEN    GREYHOUND.     A  Novel  by  Dwight 

Tilton.  With  illustrations  by  E.  Pollak. 
A  thoroughly  good  story  that  keeps  you  guessing  to  the  very  end, 
and  never  attempts  to  instruct  or  reform  you.  It  is  a  strictly  up-to- 
date  story  of  love  and  mystery  with  wireless  telegraphy  and  all  the 
modern  improvements.  The  events  nearly  all  take  place  on  a  big 
Atlantic  liner  and  the  romance  of  the  deep  is  skilfully  made  to  serve 
as  a  setting  for  the  romance,  old  as  mankind,  yet  always  new,  in 
volving  our  hero. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,      -      NEW  YORK 


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